


The Spirograph Waltz

by gauntTwister



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Angst, Blood, Death, Gore, Horror, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-11 13:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 84,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20547017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gauntTwister/pseuds/gauntTwister
Summary: Danny finds himself caught in a nightmarish timeloop in which he is driven to murder; he must escape to save not only his sanity but his archenemy's life.Inspired by a prompt by shower-phantom-ideas (Tumblr)





	1. Circuit

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on one side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned his gaze upward, letting himself relax. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain, and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party somewhere in town. Dismissing it from his mind, he turned back to the darkened streets. He wished Sam and Tucker were with him. They went out with him most nights, and he'd planned on them being there, but they'd both bailed at the last minute. Sam had said she'd had homework; Tucker hadn't been specific. 

That was alright, though. What kind of ghost-hunter was he supposed to be if he couldn't hunt ghosts on his own? Sam and Tuck were just backup, for the most part. They'd spot him if he got into a real pinch but that didn't happen too often. Mostly, they were just company. He was happy with that - the less danger they got into, the better - and he thought it was probably just as well they'd stayed home. _Give 'em a break. I'm practically on one too. Slow night and all._

He thought he should probably head home. He didn't want to miss curfew again (he'd been late coming home on Wednesday and his mother in particular had not been pleased with him), and he knew his patrols over the weekend would suffer if he were grounded. With a sigh, he flew lower through the streets so that he wouldn't see any last-minute troublemakers before he got home. He'd definitely fallen for that one before. Those were the ones that usually threw him off-schedule and got him in trouble. He was certain that they'd do it on purpose sometimes just to mess with him. 

Four blocks from his house, he paused. He hadn't been breathing - who has to, when they're dead? - but he recognized the too-familiar feeling of his breath catching in his chest. He exhaled quickly, hardly paying mind to the thin line of mist he exuded, and took a look around. _Last-minute troublemakers,_ he groused internally, _happens every time. Damn, and I was going to be early, too._ He rose up again, hoping at the very least to spot the offending ghost before he was noticed, and scanned the cityscape in all directions around him. 

Everything below was silent. The moon cast pale silver light across rows of houses and small shops - even the gas station on the corner, which usually saw a fair amount of activity both paranormal and otherwise, was vacant. The lights in some of the houses were still on (it was only nine-thirty on a Friday night, after all), but whatever spirit was making trouble had elected to hide someplace out of sight. 

_Great. I was gonna make this quick, too._ Danny grumbled to himself, debating briefly whether he should ignore this and call it a night. He wouldn't be late coming home then, since the little ghosts that hid took the longest to weed out and capture - but he decided, ultimately, that he'd take care of it. This was supposed to be his job, or something like that. He'd be fine. 

He slunk again through the streets, paying careful attention to the shadows and listening for things that might scuttle about in those shadows, and almost on instinct he honed in on the abandoned coffeeshop two blocks over. It wasn't a popular haunt - he'd never had any fights there, at least as far as he could remember - but it was abandoned, and some plucky ghost out there must have picked the place out. He wasn't about to judge. 

Two distinct _somethings_ slid together inside the building; all Danny caught was the echo of the sound, but that confirmed it in his mind. The place was less abandoned than it appeared, and the little ghostly voice in him had been right. Sometimes, it would needle and poke fun; on occasions like this, however, it served as an uncanny intuition. He'd get a gut feeling, usually about where an elusive spirit might be hiding or what sorts of abilities he could expect from his first encounter with one, and after a while he'd begun to assume that it was one of the many things that came with being a ghost. He'd never really questioned it beyond that. 

He reached down without looking and unclipped the thermos from his belt. If he was lucky, he'd have the chance to get this done without a fight, and he could still make it home before curfew. He listened, hoping to catch another telltale sound from the spirit inside, but heard nothing. He faded out of the air in an instant, drifting through the brick storefront and taking a quick peek inside the building. It was darker than the streets, since it was without power and shielded from the moonlight, but he was unfazed. The hollow green ring in the periphery of his vision allowed him to see: the bare coffee bar in the rear; chairs and tables stacked to one side and long-forgotten; a tall shelf which might once have held mugs or packaged beans for sale. The door to the tiny kitchen in the back was open, propped by an old cardboard box, and most of the fluorescent lights were missing. He supposed they had been taken out when the place closed down. 

Danny floated inside, unseen, and kept his eyes on the doorway to the back area. The shop itself seemed unoccupied - spirits preferred the little hidden-away spaces most times - and so he ignored the forgotten things stacked up against the walls. He didn't see the slight shift in the shadows behind the counter, or the mechanical eyes that focused on his ecto-signature as he passed by. By the time he even spotted the decoy blinking in the back room, it was too late. 

He was hit from behind and knocked out of the air. He landed on the hard tiles, twisted around to face the opponent, and was hit again before he could react. He crashed into one of the metal worktables, doing his best to shake the dizziness out of his head, but it was no use. He was ensnared and hopelessly tangled up in seconds, and as his mind caught up with him he began to panic. _What in the hell - ?_ He was able to pull one of his hands free, and tugged against the steel cables holding him down - 

He only had time to sense the spirit behind him before he was struck with a solid blow to the head and fell out of consciousness. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and he'd been hunting down a ghost - he remembered the empty shop, but that was when it started to get hazy. Had he been in a fight? Had he _lost_ this fight? That hadn't happened to him in a while. 

As he came into full awareness, he realized that wasn't right. His hands, he found, had been tied together behind his back, and a length of heavy chain linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the brick wall over his head. He slid himself up into an awkward sitting position, taking in the bare room around him. There wasn't much space - ten feet on a side, at most; it was dark, but not pitch-black; the remaining three walls were made of metal; a reinforced steel door stood on the far side, no doubt locked; a small control panel, inactive, presented itself in the far corner, well out of his reach. The last of the haze left his mind, and he remembered what had happened. 

He hadn't lost a fight so much as been ambushed. 

He did his best not to panic. He gave the straps on his wrists a few tugs to see if he could pull free; failing that, he meant to fade through them to render them useless. Nothing happened. He tried again, as if to make sure, and felt the knot in his stomach turn over. He glanced upwards; if his ghost powers had been shorted out, he probably couldn't reach high enough to get at that hook, either. _Don't panic, just think for a second. You'll get out of here, just take a deep breath, you'll figure it out, you always do._

He did take a deep breath - _oh, really?_ \- but it didn't help. A second later, he realized why - he was still a ghost, even if his usual array of abilities were useless to him. That didn't usually happen; he'd return to the living if he was defeated, or if his powers were shorted out somehow, or sometimes if he'd just taken a heavy hit. What was going on? Why was he still dead if he was unable to use the abilities that went with it? 

The steel door in the corner slid open and Danny froze. The light from the open frame made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He felt small all of a sudden, but hated to acknowledge it concretely; at the very least, he refused to let on and allow the old ghost any satisfaction. 

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little spirit before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake - you're just in time for tea, you know. How thoughtful of you to drop in." Under most circumstances, there was a pretentious smugness that came with the mockery; he almost found himself enjoying it, and certainly he _would_ have enjoyed it were it not for the more pressing matters in his mind. He'd set the trap for the little ghost for a reason, of course. He was simply itching to get his business underway - _but the formalities must not be ignored,_ he'd reminded himself beforehand. He was, unfortunately, a bit of a stickler about those. 

"Plasmius," Danny spat, glad at the very least that he didn't have a racing heartbeat to give him away. He forced himself to hold the old man's stare, determined to be as much of a thorn as he could until he inevitably broke free, and kept his voice steady. "Should have known it was you." 

Vlad remained stiff. "Yes, I suppose you should have," he said flatly, "Now tell me something, Daniel. I'd like the honest truth, if you're even capable of providing such a thing." 

"Bullshit, you think I'm - ?" 

Vlad cut the little ghost off with a swift kick to the stomach. He watched Danny buckle, the bored facade returning despite the fact that it was quite satisfying, and sighed. "I suppose I'm the one who should have known better, really. Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you. You'd never tell me anything no matter how nicely I asked, would you?" 

Danny regained himself. He forced in a breath, just to make sure nothing was broken - it wasn't - and glowered up again at his captor. "You call this asking nice?" 

Vlad leaned abruptly forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back, and made Danny flinch. He was unblinking; his voice fell to almost a whisper. "Why, yes, I think so. Wouldn't you like to see me when I'm not nice? I'm not playing games today, dear boy - if you can't hold that unruly tongue of yours I may just cut it out." 

"You wouldn't," Danny snapped. He forced himself to hold the dreadful ghost's eyes, determined to stare him down. He stamped down the whispers of doubt - nevermind that Vlad wasn't usually so stone-faced, or that he wasn't a man to make idle threats, or that he had Danny right in his crosshairs. They'd gone up against each other a dozen times, maybe more, and he'd found there was always a rhythm to it. He refused to bend to Vlad at any point, ever - he just had to slip free, didn't he? His fingers grasped at the ties around his wrists, knowing he wouldn't be able to fight otherwise. 

Vlad straightened again. He allowed himself only a brief moment of satisfaction - _oh, won't you look at that, he thinks he'll break free!_ \- before giving Danny a slow shake of the head. "Try if you like, but you're not getting away - not this time. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. Even the merest shred of decency is asking too much of you, isn't it? To be able to hold a conversation - why, that would be just preposterous. I'm beginning to think that you're not worth it, and I'm simply _exhausted_ of it all - " 

Danny growled, recalcitrant. "Why don't you just keel over, then - " 

Vlad lost his patience all at once, delivering a second kick that clipped Danny in the ear and sent him reeling. _Formalities be damned - that impudent brat!_ His hands crackled to light as he formed a pair of energy blasts; he held them just long enough to allow Danny to get his bearings again, and released them both at once. 

Danny's head spun. Panic took over him, if only for a moment; he scrambled, not caring where, but the next thing he knew he'd been grabbed by the collar of his suit and hauled up off his feet. Something cold had begun to run down the side of his neck - _am I bleeding?_ \- and he fought through the static of pain that clamored in his head. It occurred to him, concretely this time, that he might not escape. He shoved the thought away - of course he'd escape! He always did, and he always made it home. He held onto that, refusing to bend to Vlad's will even when the old man held all the cards. 

Vlad was silent. _Oh, he's run out of banter already? What a relief._ He supposed, then, that he'd be taking the remainder of his satisfaction for the evening out of the boy by force. That was how he'd imagined it. He had plenty of time to kill - why rush a thing like that? His hands lit up again, electrocuting the little spirit in his grip. 

Danny froze up, unable to think or to twist himself away. Everything in him wrenched at once. His mind screamed but he couldn't make a sound, much less break free. Only when Vlad dropped him did he regain any function whatsoever; without coherent thought, he scrambled away and slid up into the corner. He realized, at least on some level, that his skin had begun to smoke. 

Dead or not, he wasn't meant to take that kind of abuse. Something in him knew, even if he couldn't acknowledge it on a conscious level; he changed, or at least meant to, but could only manage a faint spark instead of the white flash that he wanted. The spark tried again, like an engine that turned over but wouldn't quite catch, but then gave up. He panicked. "I can't - what did you _do - ?"_

A thin and joyless smile spread across Vlad's face. He regarded Danny - wide-eyed and just beginning to realize exactly how far over his head he'd gotten, and he leaned over the boy again just to see him flinch. "Oh, splendid. It seems to be working properly - one of those little things I've gotten around to putting together. I've never tested it before, you know. Little things like that can't just be used on any old ghost out there, dear boy, only those caught in the between like us. Now, I'm no fool! I couldn't _possibly_ be expected to test a thing like that out on myself, now, could I? Why, that might have been dangerous! How fortunate for me that you just-so-happened to step in! Now I know for sure - it will keep you from crawling back to life the moment your ghostly form is hurt, and we can find out _exactly_ where the limits of existence lie." 

Something in Danny twisted. It was the realization that, perhaps, he _wasn't_ going to escape; he couldn't do it on his own, and who else was there to know he was here? His friends? They wouldn't even know he was missing, maybe not until Monday. His family couldn't possibly know he was here - even if they did, he realized, they wouldn't help him anyway. If he couldn't become human again, they'd probably just tear him apart. _No one's going to help you. You're on your own._ He stared up at Vlad in slack-jawed horror, only finding words a moment later. "You're out of your mind - ! You can't do this - ! Stop it, get away from me - !" 

"Oh, it's far too late for that now!" Vlad crowed, advancing again, "I'll get my pound of flesh from you yet - I told you I wasn't playing games, boy, and I meant exactly that!" 

"I said _get away from me!"_ Danny struck out, planting both feet just under Vlad's ribs if just to put some space between them. He was operating almost without thought; panic frayed him, and all he could still hold onto was that he had to get out. Anything past that was beyond him. He tried again to wrench his hands free - _just one, even? come on!_ \- but with no luck. 

By the time he saw Vlad coming at him again it was too late. A sharp spike of solidified ectoplasmic energy struck him like a spear, and just for a moment his mind went completely blank. The pain hit him a second later, and he crumpled. The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; he clung to consciousness, but his vision had fallen out of focus. Something in him quit. The spear fizzled quietly out of existence, leaving behind a splatter of fluorescent green and hundreds of electric needles that stung throughout the injury. He'd gone all but numb around the edges; he found part of himself willing it. Something else in him, though, was burning - _don't you dare quit, you bastard_ \- and he forced himself up. _Don't you dare quit until you get his head on a stick!_ It took almost everything he had not to pass out, but the ghastly voice in him drove him into motion. Given no option to retreat and hide in his human form, it fueled his aggression. _Heal later! Kill first! Tear him in two!_

With his hands tied behind his back, and none of his ghostly abilities, he could do very little except hold himself together. 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" said Vlad, knowing full well exactly how much of a threat Danny posed at the moment. He was certain the boy wouldn't bleed out - although he did take note of the little white sparks that tried once more to trigger his transformation back to human. He began to suspect he'd be seeing a lot of those. _Oh, how nice. Learning new things already, are we?_

Danny was pulled up again, not by the collar or by his hair but by the length of chain he'd been tied to; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant as he was hoisted off the floor, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else, of course; his mind had tried to shut the pain out hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Whatever could be done to him was done. Four of his teeth had been pulled out; he was electrocuted nearly to a husk, not once but twice; one of his arms had been stripped to the bone with meticulous precision; the skin flayed away up to the shoulder joint, baring ethereal flesh; melted away in neat little squares by all imaginable sorts of acids; speared, pried apart, and held open for further experimentation; his lungs both punctured, just to see if he still needed them; crushed past anything any living being was meant to withstand; forced to endure all kinds of radiation; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; bludgeoned; stabbed; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn back together afterwards only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and pleading for his afterlife. 

Vlad just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - I simply can't wait to go through the readings on this one - oh, haven't I broken this before? in that fight, why, yes, I think I have, looks awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as he was performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. He was familiar enough with human anatomy, but the inner-workings of a _ghost?_ There were similarities, of course, but he had begun to suspect that some of them had been left behind from the boy's time as human. Things like lungs had become mostly for decoration, he'd found; just because they still could function didn't mean they remained essential. _Well, this certainly wasn't in any of the reading up. I wonder if it's because he's still half-human?_ He thought back again to the soft glow emanating from somewhere close to where Danny's heart would have been. _Does he still have one of those, if he's dead?_ "My," he murmured, intrigued, "Now what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind on the matter one way or the other. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm, not caring what Vlad might break next but only that there was a moment of coveted silence before he did. He could hardly breathe, even if he'd wanted to; something had punctured one of his lungs, maybe both, and even shallow half-breaths brought him to weakened fits of coughs. Parts of him hurt that he hadn't even known _could_ hurt. Too exhausted to fight back or even writhe too much, the only protest he could manage was a wracked sob. 

"Oh, I'm so glad we're in agreement," Vlad's attention had already fallen to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. The thought occurred to him at once: _is that his core?_ He'd never seen one before, at least not without the rest of the ghost around it, and he frowned. Things had suddenly become interesting again - he admitted, with some degree of disgust with himself, that he'd almost become bored - and he pried two fractured segments of bone apart so he could reach in with his other hand. 

The second his fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into light, blinding him as if it were the sun and forcing him back. To some extent, he had an idea of what was happening; he was aware of a defense mechanism in which a spirit's core, if mortally threatened, would lash out with the last of its reserved energy before the ghost could be killed. Was this it? Could Danny be reeled in from such a state? Had Vlad finally pushed him over the edge? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made, it was too late. 

Danny went numb in an instant. He screamed anew, not any mortal sound but a piercing shriek that rattled the room and everything in it. His wounds bled something foggy and white, neither human nor ghost, that spilled over the border between liquid and vapor. Tiny crystals of ice-blue bloomed across his skin; they grew together in his bleeding eye sockets, fused into a jagged mass over his flayed hand and arm, spiked out like claws in between the stitches where he'd been sewn up. The air grew impossibly cold in seconds. The straps that had kept his wrists tied together stiffened and became brittle; one slight twist made them crumble. His arms fell but his core kept him suspended in the air, siphoning any energy it could to keep itself fueled. Heat could be used, producing cold - the cold was the most important for an ice core like his, and was the only thing that kept him from collapsing entirely. 

Danny lowered himself slowly, still functionally blind. He stepped _oh-so-lightly_ across the pools of ectoplasm that Vlad had beaten out of him, leaving footprints of sharp ice formations behind. He could tell - or, at least, the ghastly core that was directing his movements knew - that Vlad had run. _That bastard! I'll rip him in two!_ His head jerked back and he shrieked again, a hollow and grating whistle blown through countless shards, and the fog that rolled from his exposed core condensed fully. Liquefied drops of oxygen, and then nitrogen, pooled together in his wake as his core scraped together a final gulp of heat to consume before he hunted down his enemy. 

Danny made his way, blind but hunting on instinct, through the bowels of the torturous ghost's house. He was still conscious but his core was leading him; every inch of him burned with a thousand needles of frostbitten rage, and he obliterated everything in his path with neither hesitation nor mercy. His flayed arm, built back up with ever-growing spikes of crystallized ice, made a wreck of everything within reach as he went. Pieces of mangled machinery, crushed segments of sheet metal torn down from the walls, destroyed circuitboards - it became little more than piles of discarded debris, flash-frozen in a blizzardous frenzy, and only once the upper levels of the house threatened to come cascading down did Danny turn skyward. He knew his prey was up there. His core stoked his outrage - _kill him! crush him! smash his skull in!_ \- and a mutilated snarl twisted across his face. His body had become little more than a formality, pulled along only because it was attached; he rose up from the pool of liquefied nitrogen around him, leaving the ruined pits of the house behind as he shot upward to finish off his prey. His core was fueled past anything he could comprehend, shirking off the limitations on his ghostly abilities that had previously kept him incapacitated, and he phased up to the second level of the house. 

It was impossibly hot all at once; he was stunned - _don't let me melt!_ his core screeched - but only briefly. It took seconds for the vapor around him to begin to condense again on his skin, and for the fog of liquefied gas to roll out from the deep wound in his chest. His useless head turned about him. _He's close. Kill first. Heal later._ He hovered, almost limp, and honed in on the murderous haunt. There was a long hall here, wasn't there? Something in his conscious mind flashed - _an oil painting hanging on the wall_ \- but he discarded the information. The last room down the hall was where the bastard had gone; everything burst into ice as he passed, and his flayed arm, now used as nothing more than a massive bludgeon, forced the heavy double doors off their hinges with two furious slams. 

The doors exploded inwards, along with the stonework that had held them and enormous shards of broken ice; Danny landed on the fine carpet, which crackled under his touch with the sudden cold. He was almost unrecognizable; one of his arms had grown into a brutish weapon of giant shards, although the skeletal structure underneath was still visible; the surface of his skin glistened with millions of tiny crystals; several of his injuries had sealed themselves shut with spikes of ice, most flecked with suspended droplets of ectoplasm; spearlike icicles hung delicately from his wrists and feet; every movement he made was accompanied by a series of cracks like walking across a lake in winter; the formations in his eye sockets had merged over the bridge of his nose and begun to grow together; his mouth had split open across his face, frozen in a hellish snarl with countless teeth made of sharpened shards; liquid nitrogen and oxygen dripped steadily from the wounds that were still open, and poured from the one in his chest; his core glowed through it all, lighting up the room in a mist of deathly green. 

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. He was in almost full panic; he'd become increasingly frantic when the upper levels of the house had begun to heave, but he'd told himself that he'd just wait out the boy's final throes and collect whatever was left when everything went quiet again. He'd told himself, too, that it was ridiculous to let Danny rampage through his home like this - why couldn't he just confront the brat and be done with him? He'd found, in alarmed frustration, that he didn't have it in him; he was a man who picked fights he was certain he'd win with the least amount of actual effort possible, and he became quite cowardly the moment things went over his head. He'd never admit it to anyone, though, not even to himself, and no matter how bad things got. 

He did, at the very least, admit that things had gotten a little out-of-hand this time around. 

The cold had struck him the second the menace appeared, and he became suddenly aware of just how alone he was. He did his best to dismiss it - he lived alone quite on purpose! - but the feeling was unshakable. The boy's eyeless gaze was piercing; _is he even still sentient?_ Vlad wondered. His movements were tracked seemingly on instinct alone, and Danny's head shifted slightly to follow him when he took a step back. "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the unease that threatened at any moment to curdle into terror, "Daniel, don't you think - maybe you'd best calm down, and - just _look_ at you, why, I - " 

"_Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, slamming an icy fist through the side of the bed-frame, "_This is your fault! You did this to me!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded Vlad directly. The only thing left he could feel was vengeance, fed by his raging core, and he sprung into action. He pounced once at the cowardly old ghost, demolishing the wardrobe with one smash of his fist; honed in on Vlad's movements, he shook off the splinters and lunged again. 

For what was perhaps the first time, Vlad had begun to fear for his life. He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack, but even being in the same room as the monstrosity was overwhelming. It had grown almost impossibly cold in seconds; panicking, he tore out the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. 

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. _Make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay_ \- he leapt up, catching one corner of the dreadful spirit's cape in his icy claw, and they both tumbled to a halt on the stones. Vlad was yelling now but he didn't care; he bit and tore and smashed and howled in an uncontrollable frenzy, spraying drops of ectoplasm that froze midair and shattered against the stone, and he hardly noticed when the drops of lime gave way to drops of crimson. Vlad's ghostly form was torn to shreds - he crawled back to life in desperation, but there was no saving his existence. 

Only when his core had enacted its revenge was Danny able to think. He stood over what was left of the enemy, panting, his horrible weapon of ice broken up around the edges and stained twofold. The frostbitten rage in him began to relent, leaving behind the steady pins-and-needles of more reasonable function. The pain from his injuries returned, although not all at once, and the protective skin of ice slowly cracked apart and fell away. His mind went blank. The crystalline formations holding him together disintegrated in a series of glacial cracks; he collapsed, his body unable to function, and the white spark of transformation finally caught. He was wrenched mercilessly away from the edge of annihilation, and for a long moment he was too stunned to move. 

_Breathe._

He forced himself to inhale too-cold air, coughed, and pulled himself up. His mind caught up with what he'd done all at once; he scrambled to his feet in a panic, stumbling out of the nest of ice he'd left behind. Everything around him was a wreck. The house was little except rubble, blasted apart by the unbridled power of his core in desperation, and droplets of still-frozen blood and ectoplasm littered the uneven stone floor in all directions. 

In the middle of it all was Vlad - or, at least, part of him - pinned down by a spike of ice but still writhing. Both of his legs had been crushed and beaten into the stones, and he'd only barely escaped being completely torn to shreds; despite it, he had minutes at most. He coughed out a delicate spatter of blood, winced, and just for a moment his eyes met with Danny's. 

Danny scrambled to his side, reaching out but afraid to touch him as if he'd break the man further. Tears burned in the corners of his eyes as he realized the gravity of what he'd done. He couldn't speak but he forced a hoarse whisper out anyway. "Oh my god - oh shit, I didn't - " 

Vlad used up the last ounces of strength he had. One mutilated hand got ahold of the front of Danny's shirt, pulling him down so they were face-to-face. He forced down another fit of coughs, and the edges of his mouth curled into a sneer of hatred. "You little shit," he spat, "I should have - should have killed you when I had the chance. . ." 

Danny's hand came up over the old man's wrist. "I. . ." He felt it loosen in his grasp, tendons failing one at a time, and when he looked back Vlad's gaze had fallen out of focus. The last of his pained breaths came to rest, and after that he lay still. 

The old man was dead. Danny had killed him. 

Somehow, despite that he remembered it all - and that he'd _done_ it! - it was too much. "No, I - " Desperation overtook him. He grabbed ahold of the corpse's shoulders, giving them a shake as if he might be able to simply wake the old man up. "No, please - I'm sorry - I didn't mean it, I - " He couldn't breathe. Desperation turned to panic, but he was paralyzed. _It wasn't my fault!_ It was too much. He had to get away. The ruined house, and the remains of the man who had driven him to murder - _murderer! that's what you are!_ \- he had to get away from it all. He turned, unable to stand the stillness, and ran. Where would he go? He neither knew nor cared. 

So he ran, the cold moon his only witness. He ran until he was exhausted, but forced himself onward to the point of collapse. The wilderness beyond the ruined estate was damp and unforgiving, and the trees crowded him in as if to poke and jeer. _Murderer!_ they cried, and he realized that it made no difference what became of him. It was as if he hadn't gone anyplace at all; it didn't matter where he went, or how long he was running, or who was with him. He had blood on his hands, and it was something he couldn't take back. He couldn't bear that - he screamed, as if he could plead with the sky itself to reverse what he'd done. _Please, anything to take it back! I don't want to be a murderer!_ When his voice gave out and he couldn't scream anymore, he just cried. How in the hell was he going to live with himself? Could he even do that? 

Finally, completely spent, he passed out.


	2. Memories, Pains, and Ectoplasmic Remains

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on one side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned his gaze upward, letting himself relax. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain, and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party somewhere in town. He dismissed it from his mind, turning back to the darkened streets. He wished Sam and Tucker were there with him. They went out with him when they could, and he'd planned on them being there with him, but they'd both bailed on him at the last minute. _Damn, that kinda sucks. Didn't they bail last night too?_ Sam had said she'd had homework; Tucker hadn't been specific. 

That was alright, though. There were plenty of other nights for them to hunt ghosts together, and besides - what sort of ghost-hunter was Danny supposed to be if he couldn't hunt ghosts on his own? He'd been able to do that for a while - ever since he got the hang of his ghost powers, anyhow - and he'd gotten pretty good at it, in his opinion. That made Sam and Tuck just backup, didn't it? They'd spot him if he got into a _real_ pinch but that didn't happen too much anymore. More often than not, they were just company. He was happy with that - the less danger they got into, the better - and he thought it was just as well they'd stayed home. _Give 'em a break. Hell, I'm practically on one too. Slow night and all._

He thought he should probably head home. He didn't want to miss curfew again (he'd been late coming home on Wednesday and his mother in particular had not been pleased with him), and he knew his patrols over the weekend would suffer if he were grounded. As it was, he'd left his cell in his room; Technus had nearly taken over it last week, and he didn't want to risk any of that sort of bullshit if he could help it. _Fuck, I'd never live that one down._

With a sigh, he flew lower through the streets so that he wouldn't see any last-minute troublemakers before he got home. He'd definitely fallen for that one before. If he saw them, he had to _deal_ with them, and those were always the ones that threw him off-schedule and got him in trouble. He was certain that they'd do it on purpose sometimes just to mess with him. 

Four blocks from his house, he paused. He hadn't been breathing - who has to, when they're dead? - but he recognized the too-familiar feeling of his breath catching in his chest. _Oh, hell._ He exhaled quickly, hardly paying any mind to the thin line of mist he exuded, and took a look around. _Last-minute troublemakers,_ he groused internally, _happens every time. Damn, and I was gonna be early, too._ He rose up again, hoping at the very least to spot the offending ghost before he was noticed, and scanned the cityscape in all directions around him. 

Everything below was silent. The moon cast pale silver light across rows of houses and small shops - even the gas station on the corner, which usually saw a fair amount of activity both paranormal and otherwise, was vacant. The lights in some of the houses were still on (it was only nine-thirty on a Friday night, after all), but whatever spirit was making trouble had elected to hide someplace out of sight. 

_Great. I was hoping to make this quick._ Danny grumbled to himself, debating briefly on whether he should ignore this and call it a night. He wouldn't be late coming home then, since the little ghosts that hid took the longest to weed out and capture - but he decided, ultimately, that he'd take care of it. This was supposed to be his job, wasn't it? or something like that? He did wish that he'd get paid, though. 

He slunk again through the streets, paying careful attention to the shadows and listening for things that might scuttle about in those shadows, and almost on instinct he honed in on the abandoned coffeeshop two blocks over. It wasn't a popular haunt - had he ever even had a fight here? - but it was abandoned, and some plucky ghost out there must have picked the place out. He wasn't about to judge. 

The echo of two _somethings_ sliding together might have startled any of the living, but it only confirmed in Danny's mind that he had been right. _Yeah, called that one. There's definitely a ghost in there. Let's get this over with._ He gave the ghostly voice in him a little more credit - he didn't listen to it too often (it would drive him crazy if he did), but he'd begun to trust it on matters like this. Sometimes, it would speak directly; other times, it would give him a gut feeling. This was one of those times. He was thankful that it only came out when he was out on patrol, or in a fight - it must be connected to his ghost powers somehow, he thought. Well, that was the theory for the moment, at least. It wasn't like there was anyone he could ask on the matter. 

He reached down without looking and unclipped the thermos from his belt. If he was lucky, he'd have the chance to get this done without a fight, and he could still make it home before curfew. He listened, hoping to catch another telltale sign from the spirit inside, but heard nothing. He faded out of the air in an instant, drifting through the brick storefront and taking a quick peek inside the building. It was darker than the streets outside, since it was without power and shielded from the moonlight, but he was unfazed. The hollow green ring around the periphery of his vision allowed him to see: the bare coffee bar in the rear, with an empty register on one end; chairs and tables stacked to one side and long-forgotten; a tall shelf, covered with a tarp, that might once have held mugs or packaged beans for sale. The door to the tiny kitchen in the back had been left propped open by an old cardboard box, and most of the fluorescent lights were missing. He supposed they had been taken out when the place closed down. 

Danny floated inside, unseen, and kept his eyes on the doorway to the back area. The shop itself seemed unoccupied - mischievous spirits tended to prefer little hidden-away spaces most times and, besides that, he'd probably have been attacked if such a spirit had known he'd come in - and so he ignored the forgotten things stacked up against the walls. He didn't see the slight shift in the shadows behind the counter the second he turned his back, or the mechanical eyes that focused on his ecto-signature as he passed by. By the time he even spotted the decoy blinking in the back room, it was too late. 

He was hit from behind and knocked out of the air. He landed on the hard tiles, instinct kicking in, and twisted around to fight. He was hit again before he could react; he crashed into one of the metal work-tables, doing his best to shake the dizziness out of his head, but it was no use. He was ensnared and hopelessly tangled up in seconds, and as his mind caught up with him he began to panic. _What in the hell - ?_ He was able to pull one of his hands free, and tugged against the steel cables holding him down - 

He only had time to sense the spirit behind him before he was struck with a solid blow to the head and fell out of consciousness. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and he'd been hunting down a ghost - he remembered the empty shop, too, but things started to get hazy after that. Had he been in a fight? Had he _lost_ this fight? That hadn't happened to him in a while. 

As he came into full awareness, he realized that wasn't right. His hands, he found, had been tied together behind his back, and a length of heavy chain linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the brick wall over his head. He slid himself up into an awkward sitting position, taking in the bare room around him. There wasn't much space - ten feet on a side, at most; it was dark, but not pitch-black thanks to the glowing ring around his vision; the remaining three walls were made of metal; a reinforced steel door stood on the far side, no doubt locked; a small control panel, inactive at the moment, presented itself in the far corner, well out of his reach. The last of the haze left his mind, and he remembered what had happened. 

He hadn't lost a fight so much as been ambushed. _Oh, this is so much worse._

He did his best not to panic. He gave the straps on his wrists a few tugs to see if he could pull free; failing that, he meant to fade through them to render them useless. He was a ghost, after all - that made him pause. _Yeah, you still are a ghost._ Hadn't he turned back when he'd passed out? That was usually how things went. He returned to the living if he was defeated, or sometimes if he'd just taken a heavy hit. Had something gone wrong? 

Something most definitely had. He found, when he tried to phase out of confinement, that his abilities were useless too - he couldn't disappear, either. He glanced upwards; if his ghost powers had been shorted out, he probably couldn't reach high enough to get at that hook. He felt the knot in his stomach twist. _Don't panic. You'll be fine. Just think for a second, you'll get out of this, you always do._

Something, though, didn't add up. It took him a second to realize it: why was he still dead, if his powers had been shorted out? Wouldn't he go back to the living? What in the hell was going on? He tried a few of his powers again. Nothing happened, and he was starting to get a really bad feeling about it. _It doesn't add up. There's gotta be an answer for it. Right?_

The steel door in the corner slid open and Danny froze. The sudden light from the open frame made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He felt small all of a sudden, but refused to acknowledge it concretely; at the very least, he wouldn't let on and allow the old ghost any satisfaction. _Smug sonofabitch - probably got a damn monologue, too._

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little spirit before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake - you're just in time for tea, you know. How thoughtful of you to drop in." Under most circumstances, there was a pretentious smugness that came with the mockery; he almost found himself enjoying it, as he so often did, and certainly he _would_ have enjoyed it were it not for the more pressing matters in his mind. He'd set the trap for the unruly little ghost for a reason, of course. He was simply itching to get his business underway (he had been for some time, but more so now that he'd finished reading up on everything he could find about this sort of thing) - _but the formalities must not be ignored,_ he'd reminded himself beforehand. He was, unfortunately, a bit of a stickler about those. 

"Plasmius," Danny spat, glad at the very least that he didn't have a racing heartbeat to give him away. _Damned if he won't hold it over your head of you let one bit of it on._ He wasn't scared, not really - at least, he told himself that. He held the old ghost's stare, determined to be as much of a thorn as he could until he inevitably broke free. "Should have known it was you." 

Vlad remained stiff. "Yes, I suppose you should have," he said flatly, "Now tell me something, Daniel. I'd like the honest truth, if you're even capable of providing such a thing." 

"Bullshit, you think I'm - ?" 

Vlad cut the little ghost off with a swift kick to the stomach. He watched Danny buckle, the bored facade returning despite the fact that it had been rather satisfying, and sighed. "I suppose I'm the one that should have known better, really. Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you. You'd never tell me anything no matter how nicely I asked, would you?" 

Danny regained himself. He forced in a breath, just to make sure none of his ribs had broken - they hadn't - and glowered up again at his captor. "You call this asking nice?" _Wait, didn't you use that one before?_ He dismissed it. 

Vlad leaned abruptly forward, hands clasped behind his back, and made Danny flinch. He was unblinking; his voice had fallen almost to a whisper. "Why, yes, I think so. Wouldn't you like to see me when I'm not nice? I'm not playing games today, dear boy - if you can't hold that unruly tongue of yours I may just cut it out." 

"You wouldn't," Danny snapped. He forced himself to hold the dreadful ghost's eyes, despite his growing doubts - nevermind that Vlad wasn't usually so stone-faced, or that he wasn't a man to make idle threats, or that he had Danny right in his crosshairs. They'd gone up against each other a dozen times, at least, and Danny knew, for the most part, how things tended to go. He just had to buy himself a little more time so that he could slip free and fight. His fingers grasped at the ties around his wrists; with any luck at all, his ghost powers would come back, too. They always did, when he needed them to - and in the meantime, he just had to keep Vlad going. He couldn't remember a time when the man had resisted a monologue. 

Vlad straightened again. He allowed himself only a brief moment of smugness - _oh, won't you look at that, he thinks he'll break free!_ \- before giving Danny a slow shake of the head. "Try if you like, but you're not getting away - not this time. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. Even the merest shred of decency is asking too much of you, isn't it? To be able to hold a conversation - why, that would be just preposterous. I'm beginning to think that you're not worth it, and I'm simply _exhausted_ of it all - " 

Danny growled, remaining stubborn. "Why don't you just keel over, then - " 

Vlad lost his patience all at once, delivering a second kick that clipped Danny in the ear and sent him reeling. _Formalities be damned - that impudent brat!_ His hands crackled to light as he formed a pair of energy blasts; he held them just long enough to allow Danny to get his bearings again, and released them both at once. 

Danny's head spun. Panic struck him, if only for a moment; he scrambled, not caring where, but the next thing he knew he'd been grabbed by the collar of his suit and hauled up off his feet. Something cold had begun to run down the side of his neck - _am I bleeding?_ \- and he fought through the static of pain that clamored in his head. It occurred to him, concretely this time, that he might not escape. He tried to shove the thought away - of course he'd escape! he always did! - but it stuck in his head. Of course he'd escape. . .wouldn't he? Didn't he always? _Yes,_ he told himself firmly, as if that made it more true. He'd escape, and he'd make it home afterwards. He held onto that, refusing to bend to Vlad's will even when the old man held all the cards. 

Vlad was silent. _Oh, he's run out of banter already? What a relief._ He supposed, then, that he'd be taking the remainder of his satisfaction for the evening out of the boy by force. That was how he'd imagined it - and, admittedly, how he'd been imagining it for quite some time. He had plenty of time to kill, after all - why rush a thing like that? His hands lit up again, electrocuting the little spirit in his grip. 

Danny froze up, unable to think or to twist himself away. Everything in him wrenched at once. In his mind he was screaming but he couldn't make a sound, much less break free. Only when Vlad dropped him did he regain any function whatsoever; before coherent thought, he scrambled away and slid up into the corner. He realized, at least on some level, that his skin had begun to smoke. 

Dead or not, he wasn't meant to take that kind of abuse. Something in him knew, even if he couldn't acknowledge it on a conscious level; he changed - or, at least, he meant to - but could only manage a faint spark instead of the bright flash that he wanted. The spark tried again, like an engine that turned over but wouldn't quite catch, but then gave up. The pit in his stomach hardened, and he panicked. "Wait, I can't - ? What did you do to me - ?" 

A thin and joyless smile spread across Vlad's face. He regarded Danny - wide-eyed and just beginning to realize exactly how far over his head he'd gotten, and he leaned over the boy again just to see him flinch. "Oh, splendid. It seems to be working properly - one of those little things I've gotten around to putting together. I've never tested it before now, you know. Little things like that can't be used on just any ghost out there, dear boy, only those caught in the between like us. Now, I'm no fool! I couldn't _possibly_ be expected to test a thing like that out on myself, now, could I? Why, that might have been dangerous! How fortunate for me that you just-so-happened to step in! Now I know for sure - it will keep you from crawling back to life the moment your ghostly form is hurt, and we can find out _exactly_ where the limits of existence lie." 

Something in Danny twisted. Perhaps it was the realization that he _wasn't_ going to escape, no matter how many times he told himself he would. He couldn't do it on his own; who else was there to know he was here? His friends? They wouldn't even know he was missing, maybe not until Monday. _Would you even last that long?_ His family couldn't possibly know he was here, could they? Even if they did - he realized he was trapped in his ghost form anyway, and they'd probably just tear him apart. The thought of that almost made him sick. _No one's going to help you. You're on your own._ He stared up at Vlad, cheeky facade gone. "You're out of our mind - you can't do this! Stop it, get away from me - !" 

"Oh, it's far too late for that now!" Vlad crowed, advancing again, "I'll get my pound of flesh from you yet - I told you I wasn't playing games, boy, and I meant exactly that!" 

"I said _get away from me!"_ Danny struck out before he could think, planting both feet just under Vlad's ribs if only to put some space between them. _You're not getting out - stop it! I'll find a way - no you won't, idiot!_ \- panic was fraying him, and he knew he had to get out before Vlad killed him. He tried again to wrench his hands free - _just one, even? come on!_ \- but with no luck. 

By the time he saw Vlad coming at him again it was too late. A sharp spear of solidified ectoplasmic energy struck right through him, and just for a moment his mind froze up completely. A second later the pain hit him, and he crumpled. The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; he clung to consciousness, but his vision had fallen out of focus. Something in him quit. The spear fizzled quietly out of existence, but the damage was done - it left behind a bright splatter of luminescent green, and hundreds of electric needles that stung throughout the injury. He'd gone all but numb around the edges. _Is this how I die?_ Something else in him, though, was burning - _don't you dare quit, you bastard_ \- and he forced himself up. _Don't you dare quit until you get his head on a stick!_ It took almost everything he had not to pass out, but the ghastly voice in him drove him into motion. Given no option to retreat and hide within his human form, it fueled his aggression. _Heal later! Kill first! Tear him in two, rip out his guts, smash his head in!_

With his hands tied behind him, and none of his ghostly abilities, he could do very little except hold himself together. _Dammit, I can't die now - can I? Fuck, I can't, not yet!_ He spat out a mouthful of ectoplasm, forcing himself to meet Vlad's eyes again. "You sonofabitch - " 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" said Vlad, knowing full well exactly how much of a threat Danny posed at the moment. He was certain the boy wouldn't bleed out - although he did take note of the little white sparks that tried once more to trigger his transformation back to human. He began to suspect he'd be seeing a lot of those. _Oh, how nice. Learning new things already, are we?_ One hand rested on the chain attached to the hook bolted into the bricks, and just for a second he gave Danny a pleasant smile. "Now, let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?" 

Danny was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant as he was hoisted off the floor, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else, of course; his mind had tried to shut the pain out hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Whatever could be done to him was done. Four of his teeth had been pulled out; he was electrocuted nearly to a husk, not once but twice; one of his hands had been stripped to the bone with meticulous precision; the skin flayed away up to the shoulder joint, baring ethereal flesh; melted away in neat little squares by all sorts of acids; speared, pried apart, and held open for further experimentation; his lungs both punctured, just to see if he still needed them; crushed past anything any living being was meant to withstand; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; bludgeoned; stabbed; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn back together afterwards only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and pleading for his afterlife. 

Vlad just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - I simply can't wait to go through the readings on this one - oh, haven't I broken this before? in that fight, why, yes, I think I have, looks awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as he was performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. He knew a great deal about human anatomy, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost - was that his heart? Did he even have one of those, if he was dead? Did he need it, or was it a remnant from his time as human? "My," he murmured, intrigued, "Now what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind on the matter one way or the other. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm, not caring what Vlad might break next but only that there was a moment of coveted silence before he did. He couldn't breathe, even if he wanted to; both of his lungs had pooled with fluid, and even a shallow half-breath made him feel like he'd drown. Too exhausted to fight back or even writhe too much, the only protest he could manage was a wracked sob. 

"Oh, I'm so glad we're in agreement," Vlad's attention had already fallen to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. The thought occurred to him at once: _is that his core?_ He'd never seen one exposed before. _Yes, that must be it, mustn't it?_ Things had suddenly become interesting again, and he pried two of Danny's broken ribs apart so he could reach inside with his other hand. 

The second his fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into light, blinding him as if it were the sun and forcing him back. To some extent, he thought he had an idea of what was happening: he was aware, although vaguely, of a last-ditch defense mechanism in which a mortally wounded core could lash out with the last of the energy it had before a spirit could be killed. What that what was happening? Could Danny be reeled in from such a state? Had Vlad finally pushed him over the edge? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made, it was too late. 

Danny screamed anew - not any mortal sound but a piercing shriek that rattled the room and everything in it. The air turned cold in an instant. His wounds bled something foggy and white, neither human nor ghost, that spilled over the border between liquid and vapor. Flakes of ice-blue bloomed across his skin; they grew together like crystals in his bleeding eye sockets, trapping swirls of ectoplasm that made them burn an iridescent green; fused into a jagged mass over his flayed hand and arm; spiked out like claws in between the stitches where he'd been sewn up. The straps that had kept his wrists tied together stiffened and became brittle. One slight twist made them crack and crumble apart, and his useless arms fell. His core kept him suspended in the air, casting a furious green glow in between his broken ribs and out through the hole torn into his chest. The fog from the wound liquefied completely, boiling off again only once it had dripped down and splattered against the hard metal floor. 

Danny lowered himself slowly, still functionally blind. His body was fragile and nearly useless; his core led him, and ice directed his movements as his head jerked back and he shrieked like a storm through the house. He knew that Vlad had run - _that bastard! I'll rip him in two!_ \- and that it would only be a matter of minutes until he was dead. His core, fueling itself with the last it could scrape together, stoked his hatred. 

Danny made his way, blind but hunting on instinct, through the bowels of the torturous ghost's house. He was still conscious but his core was leading him; every inch of him burned with a thousand needles of frostbitten rage, and he tore through the labs and empty rooms in a blizzardous frenzy. Everything was obliterated, flash-frozen, discarded in an ever-growing pool of liquid nitrogen, and only once the upper levels of the house threatened to come cascading down did he turn skyward. He knew his prey was up there. His core was unstoppable - _kill him! crush him! smash his skull in!_ \- and a mutilated snarl twisted across his face. His body had become little more than a formality, pulled along only because it was attached, and he shirked off the limitations on his ghostly abilities and shot upwards to the rest of the house. 

It was impossibly hot all at once; he faltered - _don't let me melt!_ his raging core screeched - but only for a moment. It took mere seconds for the vapor around him to condense again on his skin, and for the fog of liquefied gas to pour out from the deep wound in his chest. His useless head turned about him. _Heal later! Kill first!_ He hovered, almost limp save for the massive icy growths that shielded him, and honed in on the murderous haunt. There was a long hall here, wasn't there - _an oil painting, and spatters of crimson and lime_ \- and the last room down the hall was where the bastard had gone. Everything around him burst into ice as he passed; his flayed arm, now used as nothing more than a massive bludgeon, forced the heavy double doors off their hinges with two furious slams. 

The doors exploded inwards, along with the stonework that had held them and enormous shards of broken ice; Danny landed on the fine carpet, which crackled under his touch with the sudden cold. He was almost unrecognizable; one of his arms had grown into a brutish weapon of giant shards, although the skeletal structure underneath was still visible; the surface of his skin glistened with millions of tiny crystals; several of his injuries had sealed themselves shut with spikes of ice, most flecked with suspended droplets of ectoplasm; spearlike icicles hung delicately from his wrists and feet; every movement he made was accompanied by a series of cracks like walking across a lake in winter; the formations in his eye sockets had merged over the bridge of his nose and begun to grow together; his mouth had split open across his face, frozen in a hellish snarl with countless teeth made of sharpened shards; liquid nitrogen and oxygen dripped steadily from the wounds that were still open, and poured from the one in his chest; his core glowed through it all, lighting up the room in a mist of deathly green. 

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. He was in almost full panic; he'd become increasingly frantic when the upper levels of the house had begun to heave, but he'd told himself that he'd wait out the boy's final throes and collect the remains afterwards. He'd also told himself that it was ridiculous to let Danny rampage through his home like this - but he didn't have it in him to confront the boy and be done with him. In affairs he wasn't absolutely certain he'd win, he turned very quickly to cowardice. _No, not cowardice,_ he insisted - things had just gotten a little out-of-hand. The cold had struck him the second the menace appeared, and he became suddenly aware of just how alone he was. He did his best to dismiss it - he lived alone quite on purpose! - but the feeling was unshakable. The boy's eyeless gaze was piercing. _Is he even still sentient?_ His movements were tracked seemingly on instinct alone, and Danny's head shifted slightly to follow him when he took a step back. "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the unease that threatened at any moment to curdle into terror, "Daniel, don't you think - maybe you'd best calm down, and - just _look_ at you, why, I - " 

_"Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, slamming an icy fist through the side of the bed-frame, _"This is your fault! You did this to me!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded Vlad directly. The only thing left he could feel was vengeance, fed by his raging core, and he sprung into action. He pounced once at the cowardly old ghost, demolishing the wardrobe with a smash of his fist; honed in on Vlad's movements, he shook off the splinters and lunged again. 

For what was perhaps the first time, Vlad had begun to fear for his life. He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack, but even being in the same room as the monstrosity was overwhelming. It had grown almost impossibly cold in seconds; panicking, he tore out through the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. 

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. _Make him pay make him pay make him pay make him pay_ \- he leapt up, catching one corner of the dreadful spirit's cape in his claw, and they both tumbled to a halt on the stones. Vlad was yelling now but he didn't care; he bit and tore and smashed and howled in an uncontrollable frenzy, spraying drops of ectoplasm that froze midair and shattered against the floor. He hardly noticed when the drops of green gave way to drops of red - Vlad's ghostly form was torn to shreds, and he crawled back to life in an effort to save his existence. 

Only when his core was satisfied with the damage was Danny able to think. He stood over what was left of the enemy, panting, his horrible weapon of ice broken up around the edges and stained twofold. The bitter frostbite in him began to relent, leaving behind the steady pins-and-needles of more reasonable function. The pain from his injuries returned, although not all at once, and his protective skin of ice slowly cracked apart and fell away. His mind went blank. The crystalline formations holding him together disintegrated in a series of glacial cracks; he collapsed, his body unable to keep him upright, and the white spark of transformation finally caught. He was wrenched mercilessly away from the edge of annihilation, and for a long moment he was too stunned to move. 

_Breathe._

He forced himself to inhale too-cold air, coughed, and pulled himself up. His core had burrowed back into him to hide, and no doubt to heal - _but look at what you destroyed._ Everything around him was a wreck. The house was little except rubble, blasted apart by the unbridled power of his core in desperation, and droplets of still-frozen blood and ectoplasm littered the broken stone floor in all directions. 

In the middle of it all was Vlad - or part of him, at least - pinned down by a spike of ice but still writhing. Both of his legs had been crushed and beaten into the stones, and he'd only barely escaped being completely torn apart; despite it, he had minutes at most. He coughed out a delicate spatter of blood, winced, and just for a moment his eyes met with Danny's. 

His mind caught up with what he'd done all at once; he scrambled to Vlad's side in a panic, reaching out but afraid to touch him as if he could possibly break the man further. "Oh, fuck - Vlad, I didn't - I didn't mean it - " 

Vlad used up the last ounces of strength he had. One mutilated hand got ahold of the front of Danny's shirt, pulling him down so they were face-to-face. He forced down another fit of coughs, but a thin line of blood slid from between his lips when they curled into a sneer of hatred. "You - you little shit," he spat, "I should have killed you when I had the chance. . ." 

Danny's hand came up over the old man's wrist. "I - I'm sorry. . ." He felt it loosen in his grasp, tendons failing one at a time, and when he looked back Vlad's gaze was empty. The last of his pained breaths came to rest, and after that he lay still. 

The old man was dead. Danny had killed him. 

Somehow, despite that he remembered it all - he'd _done_ it, for fuck's sake - he could hardly believe it. "No, I - " Desperation overtook him. He grabbed ahold of the corpse's shoulders, giving them a shake as if he could simply wake the old man up. "No, please - I'm sorry - I didn't mean it, I - " He couldn't breathe. _He's dead!_ Desperation turned to panic, but he was paralyzed. _It wasn't my fault!_ He knew that it was. He'd been tortured to the brink of death, and in turn had slaughtered the ghost that had done it. Wasn't this what he'd wanted? _Please, it wasn't my fault._

It was too much. He had to get away. The ruined house, and the remains of the man who had driven him to murder - _murderer! that's what you are!_ \- he had to get away from all of it. He turned, unable to stand the stillness, and ran. Where would he go? Where could he go? He neither knew nor cared. 

So he ran, the cold moon his only witness. He ran until he was exhausted, but forced himself onward to the point of collapse. The wilderness beyond the ruined estate was damp and unforgiving, and the trees crowded him in; they seemed to poke and jeer - _you're a monster!_ \- and it was as if he hadn't gone anyplace at all. He realized it didn't matter where he went, or how long he was running, or who was with him. He'd never get that blood off his hands. It was something he couldn't take back. He couldn't take it - he screamed, as if he could plead with the sky itself to reverse what he'd done. 

_Murderer. That's what you are._

When his voice gave out and he couldn't scream anymore, he just cried. How in the hell was he supposed to live with himself? Could he even do that? He was _fourteen,_ for fuck's sake, and he'd just singlehandedly killed a man. Archenemy be damned, he was still a _person,_ wasn't he? 

Finally, completely spent, Danny passed out.


	3. Plasma, Oil, and Blood

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on the side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned his gaze upward, letting himself relax. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain, and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party somewhere in town. He dismissed it from his mind, turning back to the darkened streets below him. He wished Sam and Tucker were there. They'd both bailed on him at the last minute, and he sighed. _Damn, that really sucks. Didn't they bail last night too? What's a guy gotta do to hang out with his friends, anyway?_ It would have been a great night for the three of them to be out - not too many ghosts, and the stargazing would be decent. 

He thought he should probably head home. He didn't want to miss curfew again, and he knew his patrols over the weekend would suffer if he were grounded. He was glad his parents and sister were out - he'd almost been dragged along, but had convinced his father that his homework had been piling up, and of _course_ he wasn't going to sneak out to a party or to Sam's house to watch movies on the bigass TV in her basement. Well, all of that was technically true - he hadn't gone to Sam's, and he _did_ have a mountain of homework waiting for him at home. _Ugh. Don't think about it. Maybe it'll go away._ A guy could hope, right? 

With a sigh, he flew lower through the streets so that he wouldn't see any last-minute troublemakers before he got home. He'd definitely fallen for that one before. If he saw them, he had to _deal_ with them, and those were always the ones that threw him off-schedule and got him into trouble. He was certain they'd do it on purpose sometimes just to mess with him - those little formless ones, especially. They'd fly around in some stupid game of hide-and-seek. He hated them. 

Four blocks from his house, he paused. _Oh, god-fucking-dammit._ He hadn't been breathing, but the sensation was all too familiar - he exhaled quickly to keep from giving himself a brainfreeze, ignoring the thin line of mist he exuded. _Happens every time. Been getting a lot of those lately - what, are they inviting their friends to come and play too? Fantastic._ He rose up again, hoping either to spot the offending ghost or to draw it out into a fight, and scanned the cityscape around him. 

Everything below was silent. The moon cast pale silver light across rows of houses and small shops - even the gas station on the corner, which usually saw a fair amount of activity both paranormal and otherwise, was vacant. The lights in some of the houses were still on (it was only nine-thirty on a Friday night, after all), but whatever spirit was making trouble had elected to hide away out of sight. 

_Great. Now I'm gonna be late, and then I'm gonna be grounded, and I'm gonna miss movie night with Sam and Tuck tomorrow._ He debated briefly on whether he should just ignore this and call it a night. He wouldn't be late coming home then; the little ghosts that hid took the longest to weed out and capture, and they'd have no problems eating up the half-hour until curfew. He decided, ultimately, that he'd take care of it anyway. This was supposed to be his job, wasn't it? or something like that, anyhow. 

He slunk again through the streets, paying careful attention to the shadows and listening for things that might be scuttling about in those shadows, and almost on instinct he honed in on an abandoned building two blocks over. The ghostly voice in him was his guide in matters like these; he'd learned, in his time away from the living, that it knew the ins and outs of being dead. It could react much more quickly than he could on a conscious level (which, admittedly, did come in handy in a fair number of fights); other times it would jeer and poke fun - _breathing? really?_ \- at things he'd do, or how he'd feel. It just came with being a ghost, he supposed. That was probably the closest he'd get to a definite answer. Who would he ask about it, anyway, even if he wanted to? 

He drifted on a slight breeze up to the side of the empty shop, and listened for signs of activity from inside. The echo of two _somethings_ sliding together confirmed it - _oh yeah, there's definitely a ghost in there._ He reached down without looking and unclipped the thermos from his belt. He hoped he'd catch the spirit by surprise - _please, can I not be grounded this week?_ He faded out of the air in an instant, phasing through the bricks and into the empty coffeeshop. The green ring around his vision allowed him to see: stacks of disused chairs and tables, the bar in the rear, a couple of shelves to one side. Little was disturbed; it probably wasn't a popular haunt - he vaguely remembered having a fight here once or twice - but, regardless, he'd have a look around. 

Danny floated inside, unseen, and kept his eyes on the doorway to the back area. It had been propped open with a forgotten cardboard box; something just out of sight on the other side glowed faintly. He could sense the spirit - _just in there, probably only one, I think_ \- and without making a sound he crept closer. 

At the last second, he paused. _Something's not right._ He frowned, unable to place exactly what kind of feeling came over him just then. It wasn't a _bad_ feeling, at least not the kind he was used to - the fuckor that hit him if he realized he'd forgotten about an important test, the dread that built up in the pit of his stomach if he thought too much about either of his parents finding out his secret, the steadily rising panic that clouded his mind when he began to lose a fight - it wasn't any of those. What was it, then? Something was just _off._

He wouldn't have the time to figure it out - he was hit from behind and knocked out of the air. He landed on the hard tile floor, thermos skittering out of his hand and into some corner, and he twisted around to fight as his instincts kicked in. He was hit again; he crashed into one of the metal work-tables, doing his best to shake the dizziness out of his head, but it was no use. He was ensnared and hopelessly tangled up in seconds, and as his mind caught up with him he began to panic. _What in the hell - ?_ He was able to pull one of his hands free, and tugged at the steel cables holding him down - 

He only had time to sense the spirit behind him before he was struck with a solid blow to the head and fell out of consciousness. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and he'd been hunting down a ghost - he remembered the empty shop, too, and a little blinking thing sitting on the table, but things started to get hazy after that. Had he been in a fight? Had he _lost_ this fight? That hadn't happened to him in a while. 

As he came into full awareness, he realized that wasn't right. His hands, he found, had been tied together behind his back, and a length of heavy chain linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the brick wall over his head. He slid himself up into an awkward sitting position, taking in the bare room around him. There wasn't much space - ten feet on a side, at most; it was dark, but not pitch-black thanks to the glowing ring around his vision; the remaining three walls were made of metal; a reinforced steel door stood on the far side, no doubt locked; a small control panel, inactive, presented itself in the corner, well out of his reach. The last of the haze left his mind, and he remembered what had happened. 

He hadn't lost a fight so much as been ambushed. _Oh, shit, this is so much worse._

He did his best not to panic. He twisted his wrists once or twice, as if the straps binding them might fall away; failing that, he meant to fade through them and render them useless. He was a ghost, after all, nevermind the fact that he'd been one the whole time, and nevermind that the nagging feeling in the back of his mind persisted when his eyes wandered the room. He slid himself back up against the bricks and took a deep breath - _really? still doing that?_ \- in an effort to calm himself. _Don't panic. You'll be fine. So maybe your powers are shorted out again. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened, right? Just think for a second, you'll get out of here, you always do. Don't you?_

Something, though, didn't add up. It only took him a second to realize it: why was he still dead, if his ghostly abilities were useless? When that had happened before, he'd returned to the living. What in the hell was going on? He tried a few of his powers again. Nothing happened, and the knot in his gut hardened. 

The steel door in the corner slid open and Danny froze. The sudden light from the open frame made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and arch-enemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He felt small all of a sudden, but refused to acknowledge it concretely; at the very least, he wouldn't let on and allow the old ghost any satisfaction. He steeled himself, and held his stare. 

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little spirit before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake - you're just in time for tea, you know. How thoughtful of you to drop in." Under most circumstances, there was a pretentious smugness that came with the mockery; he almost found himself enjoying it, as he so often did, and certainly he _would_ have enjoyed it were it not for the more pressing matters in his mind. He'd set the trap for the unruly little ghost for a reason, of course. He was simply itching to get his business underway - _but the formalities must not be ignored,_ he'd reminded himself beforehand. He was, unfortunately, a bit of a stickler about those. 

"Plasmius," Danny growled, stamping down the growing pit of dread in him. _Damned if he won't hold it over your head if you let even one bit of it on._ He wasn't scared, not really - he told himself that, anyway, hoping it would help. It didn't; he was glad, at the very least, that he didn't have a racing heartbeat to give him away. He held the old ghost's stare, determined to be as much of a thorn as possible until he could break free. "Should have known it was you." 

Vlad remained stiff. "Yes, I suppose you should have," he said flatly, "Now tell me something, Daniel. I'd like the honest truth, if you're even capable of providing such a thing." 

"Bullshit, you think I'm - ?" 

Vlad cut the little ghost off with a swift kick to the stomach. He watched Danny buckle, the bored facade returning despite the fact that it had been rather satisfying, and sighed. "I suppose I'm the one that should have known better, really. Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you. You'd never tell me anything no matter how nicely I asked, would you?" 

Danny regained himself. He forced in a breath, just to make sure none of his ribs had broken - _now, what might that be?_ \- and glowered up again at his captor. "You call this asking nice?" He spat the words out just to be recalcitrant, and did his best to ignore everything else. 

Vlad leaned abruptly forward, hands clasped behind his back, and made Danny flinch. He was unblinking; his voice had fallen almost to a whisper. "Why, yes, I think so. Wouldn't you like to see me when I'm not nice? I'm not playing games today, dear boy - if you can't hold that unruly tongue of yours I may just cut it out." 

"You wouldn't," Danny snapped. He forced himself to hold the dreadful ghost's gaze, despite his growing doubts - nevermind that Vlad wasn't usually so stone-faced, or that he wasn't a man to make idle threats, or what he'd said about a hen's teeth. They'd gone up against each other a dozen times, at least, and Danny knew, for the most part, how things tended to go. He just had to buy himself a little more time until he could slip free and fight. His fingers grasped at the ties around his wrists; with any luck at all, his ghost powers would come back, too. They always did, when he needed them to. Didn't they? 

Vlad straightened again. He allowed himself only a brief moment of smugness - _oh, won't you look at that, he thinks he'll break free!_ \- before giving Danny a slow shake of the head. "Try if you like, but you're not getting away - not this time. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. Even the merest shred of decency is asking too much of you, isn't it? To be able to hold a conversation - why, that would be just preposterous. I'm beginning to think that you're not worth it, and I'm simply _exhausted_ of it all - " 

"Why don't you just keel over - " Danny stopped himself, not knowing why, but it was too late. 

Vlad lost his patience all at once, delivering a second kick that clipped Danny in the ear and sent him reeling. _Formalities be damned - that impudent brat!_ His hands crackled to light as he formed a pair of energy blasts; he held them just long enough to allow Danny to get his bearings again, and released them both at once. 

Danny's head spun. Panic struck him, if only for a moment; he scrambled, not caring where, but the next thing he knew he'd been grabbed by the collar of his suit and hauled off his feet. Something cold had begun to run down the side of his neck - _am I bleeding?_ \- and he cut through the static of pain that clamored in his head. It occurred to him, concretely this time, that he wouldn't escape. He tried to shove the thought away - _of course you'll escape, you always do!_ \- but to no avail. _Of course you'll escape. . .right?_

Vlad was silent. _Oh, he's run out of banter already? What a relief._ He supposed, then, that he'd be taking the remainder of his satisfaction for the evening out of the boy by force. That was how he'd imagined it, at least. He had plenty of time to kill, after all - why rush a thing like that? His hands lit up again, electrocuting the little spirit in his grip. 

Danny froze up, unable to think of to twist himself away. Everything in him wrenched at once. In his mind he was screaming but he couldn't make a sound, much less break free. Only when Vlad dropped him did he regain any function whatsoever; before coherent thought, he scrambled away and slid up into the corner. He realized that his skin had begun to smoke. 

Dead or not, he wasn't meant to take that kind of abuse. He changed - or, at least, he meant to - but could only manage a faint spark instead of the bright flash that he wanted. The spark tried again, like an engine that turned over but wouldn't quite catch, but then gave up. He couldn't transform back - _of course you can't, you idiot_ \- and that was on top of his ghost powers being useless. Despite himself, he panicked. "Wait, I can't - ? _What did you do to me - ?"_

A thin and joyless smile spread across Vlad's face. He regarded Danny - wide-eyed and just beginning to realize exactly how far in over his head he'd gotten - and he leaned over the boy again just to see him flinch. "Oh, splendid. It seems to be working properly - one of those little things I've gotten around to putting together. I've never tested it before now, you know. Things like that can't be used on just any old ghost out there, dear boy, only those caught in the between like us. Now, I'm no fool - I couldn't _possibly_ be expected to try a thing like that out on myself, now, could I? Why, that might have been dangerous! How fortunate for me that you just-so-happened to step in! Now I know for sure - it will keep you from crawling back to life the moment your ghostly form is hurt, and we can find out _exactly_ where the limits of existence lie." 

Something in Danny twisted. Perhaps it was the realization that he _wasn't_ going to escape, no matter how many times he told himself that he would. It wasn't just a feeling anymore; it had grown into an unshakable, icy certainty. _You're not getting out of here. Not this time._ It was absolute, as if he already knew how this was going to end. _He's not really going to kill me - is he?_ He stared up at Vlad, cheeky facade gone. "You're out of your mind - you can't do this! Stop it, get away from me - !" 

"Oh, it's far too late for that now!" Vlad crowed, advancing again, "I'll get my pound of flesh from you yet - I told you I wasn't playing games, boy, and I meant exactly that!" 

"I said _get away from me!"_ Danny struck out before he could think, planting both feet just under Vlad's ribs if only to put some space between them. _You know he'll get you for that one, you're not getting out, you never will, no matter how many bones he breaks!_ Panic was fraying him; he tried again to wrench his hands free - _just one, even? come on!_ \- but with no luck. 

By the time he saw Vlad coming at him again it was too late. A sharp spear of solidified ectoplasmic energy struck right through him, and just for a moment he froze up completely. A second later the pain hit him, and he crumpled. _He'll get you for that one._ The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; he clung to consciousness, but his vision fell out of focus. Something in him sputtered and then gave out. The spear fizzled quietly out of existence, but the damage was done - a bright splatter of fluorescent green, hundreds of stinging electric needles, and the burning refusal to quit. _Don't you dare give up, you bastard, not this time!_ It took almost everything he had not to pass out, but the ghastly voice in him forced him up. 

With his hands tied behind him, and none of his ghostly abilities, he could do very little except hold himself together. _Jesus, am I going to bleed out? Is this how I die?_ He spat out a mouthful of ectoplasm and forced himself to meet Vlad's eyes again. "You sonofabitch - " 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" said Vlad, knowing full well exactly how much of a threat Danny posed at the moment. He was relatively certain the boy wouldn't bleed out, although he did take note of the little white sparks that tried once more to trigger his transformation back to human. He began to suspect he'd be seeing a lot of those. _Oh, how nice. Learning new things already, are we?_ One hand rested on the chain attached to the hook bolted into the bricks, and just for a second he gave Danny a pleasant smile. "Let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?" 

Something sparked through the buzzing cloud of panic in Danny's mind. It was only a flash - _broken joints and flayed limbs; a mangled bludgeon of ice_ \- and he didn't have time to understand it. He was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant as he was hoisted off the floor, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else, of course; his mind had tried to shut the pain out hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Whatever could be done to him was done. Four of his teeth had been pulled out; he was electrocuted nearly to a husk, not once but twice; one of his hands had been stripped to the bone with meticulous precision; the skin flayed away up to the shoulder joint, baring ethereal flesh; branded by red-hot instruments of all sorts; speared, pried apart, and held open for further experimentation; his lungs both punctured, just to see if he still needed them; crushed past anything any living being was meant to withstand; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; bludgeoned; stabbed; flesh sliced open for the hell of it and sewn back together afterwards only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and pleading for his afterlife. 

Vlad just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - I simply can't wait to go through the readings on this one - oh, haven't I broken that before? in that fight, why, yes, I think I have, looks awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as he was performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. He knew a great deal about human anatomy, of course, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost - was that his heart? Did he even need one of those, or was it a vestigial remain from his time as human? "My," he murmured, intrigued, "Now, what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind on the matter one way or another. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm, not caring what Vlad might break next but only that there was a moment of coveted silence before he did. In the mutilated darkness, he'd become viscerally aware of any small movement or sound that the man made; dread hung, ever-present, over the barrage of pain, and he knew he was almost spent. What could he have left, after all this? Too exhausted to fight back, or even writhe too much, the only protest he could manage was a wracked sob. 

"Oh, I'm so glad we're in agreement," Vlad's attention had already fallen to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. The thought occurred to him at once: _is that his core?_ He'd never seen one exposed before. _Yes, that must be it, mustn't it?_ Things had suddenly become interesting again, and he pried two of Danny's broken ribs apart so that he could reach in with his other hand. 

The second his fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into light, blinding him as if it were the sun and forcing him back. It took him a moment to understand what was happening - a core in desperation could lash out with the last of its stored energy, according to what he'd read. What this it? Could Danny be reeled in from such a state? Had Vlad finally pushed him over the edge? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made, it was too late. 

Danny knew it was too late, too. He could feel his core wrench control away from him, and in an instant everything in him burst into rage. He screamed anew, not any mortal sound but a piercing shriek that rattled the room and everything in it. The air turned cold; his wounds bled something foggy and white, neither human nor ghost, that spilled over the border between liquid and vapor. Flakes of ice-blue bloomed across his skin, grew together like crystals in his bleeding eye sockets, formed into a mangled bludgeon of ice over his flayed hand and arm, spiked up in between the stitches that held him together. The straps that had kept his wrists tied together stiffened and became brittle; one slight twist made them crack and crumble apart, and his useless arms fell. His core kept him suspended, casting a furious green glow in between his broken ribs and out through the hole torn into his chest. The fog from the wound liquefied completely, boiling off again only once it had dripped off of him and splattered against the hard metal floor. 

Danny lowered himself slowly, still functionally blind. His body was fragile and nearly useless; he stood but bore no weight; his shoulders slumped off-kilter; his remaining fingers bent and unbent like claws searching for something to tear; ice directed his movements as his head jerked back and he shrieked like a storm through the house. He knew that Vlad had run - _that bastard! I'll rip him in two!_ \- and that it would only be a matter of minutes until he was dead. His core, fueling itself with the last bit of heat it could scrape together, stoked his hatred. 

Danny made his way, blind but hunting on instinct, through the bowels of the torturous ghost's house. He was still conscious but his core was in control; every inch of him burned with a thousand needles of frostbitten rage, and he tore through the labs and empty rooms in a blizzardous frenzy. Everything was obliterated, flash-frozen, discarded in an ever-growing pool of cryogenic liquid, and only once the upper levels of the house threatened to come cascading down on top of him did he turn skyward. He knew his prey was up there, in the last room down a long hall, and a mutilated snarl twisted across his face. His body had become little more than a formality caked in frost and ice - _protected! heal later!_ \- and he shirked off the limitations on his ghostly abilities and shot upwards. 

It was impossibly hot all at once; he faltered - _don't you dare let me melt!_ his raging core screeched - but only for a moment. It took mere seconds for the vapor around him to condense again on his skin, and for the fog of liquefied gas to pour out from the deep wound in his chest. His useless head turned to the grand halls of the manor. _Heal later! Kill first!_ He hovered, almost limp save for the massive icy growths that shielded him, and went after the murderous haunt. _An oil painting,_ his conscious mind remembered, with little behind it, _spatters of crimson and lime._ He couldn't wait for those - _a handprint of human blood_ \- and turned without need for sight to the last room at the end of the hall. He knew, even without sensing him, that the bastard was in there. Everything burst into ice as he passed; he slammed up against the heavy double doors once, using his flayed arm as an instrument of blunt force. A second attack forced them off their hinges. 

The doors exploded inwards, along with the stonework that had held them and enormous shards of broken ice; Danny landed on the fine carpet, useless legs hanging under him. His core pulled like strings at the ice over his limbs and across his face. His head tilted to one side but he was locked onto the old man; his inhuman snarl glistened in fluorescent green, armed with new shards of teeth in the stead of the ones that had been pulled out, and the last of his conscious mind succumbed to the raging bloodlust that screeched in his ears. 

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. He was in almost full panic; he'd become increasingly frantic when the upper levels of the house had begun to heave, but he hadn't had the nerve to go down and see the boy's final throes for himself. It was too late now; his _throes_ had led him right to the old man, and Vlad was sudenly uncertain whether he could win this fight even if he were to attack again. The little ghost may have been teetering on the brink of oblivion, or he may have been in full control - but did it matter, really? Vlad hated to admit it but he wasn't going to wait and find out for sure. The cold had struck him the second the menace appeared, and he became suddenly aware of how alone he was. _You live alone, remember? You've done so for years, and quite on purpose!_ Something else in him, though, was chiding._You've done this to yourself, you know. Is this really what you wanted?_ He admitted, with great reluctance, that it wasn't. _Is he still even sentient?_ The boy's eyeless gaze was piercing; Vlad's movements were tracked seemingly on instinct alone, and Danny's head shifted slightly to follow him when he took a step back. _Can't you reel him in from this? Is that even possible? Dear lord, what if you couldn't?_ "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the delicate unease that threatened at any moment to curdle into downright terror, "Daniel, don't you think - maybe you'd best calm down, and - just _look_ at you, why, I - " 

_"Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, slamming an icy fist through the side of the bed-frame, _"You did this to me! This is your fault!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded Vlad directly. The only thing left that he could feel was vengeance, fed by his raging core, and he sprung into action. He pounced once at the cowardly old ghost, demolishing the wardrobe with a smash of his flayed hand; honed in on Vlad's movements, he shook off the splinters and lunged again. 

For what was perhaps the first time, Vlad had begun to fear for his life. He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack - _can he even still be called that? he's a monstrosity!_ \- but even being in the same room was overwhelming. _Monstrosity? You've pushed him to it, and you've laughed through every ounce of that_ \- he shoved the impudent voice out of his head, and fled out through the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. _You did this you did this you did this - _

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. _Make him pay! Tear his head off! Crush him! Destroy him!_ He leapt up, catching one corner of the dreadful spirit's cape in his claw, and they both tumbled to a halt on the stones. Danny's frozen body cracked someplace; Vlad just sprawled, and tried to scramble back up to his feet. He was yelling now but Danny didn't care; he bit and tore and smashed and howled in an uncontrollable frenzy, spraying drops of ectoplasm that froze midair and shattered against the floor. He hardly noticed when the drops of lime gave way to drops of crimson - Vlad's ghostly form was torn to shreds, and he was wrenched back to the living in its absence. It didn't matter between one body or another. Danny had little trouble crushing them both. 

Only when his core was satisfied with the damage was Danny able to think. He hung over what was left of the enemy, panting, his horrible weapon of ice broken up around the edges and stained twofold. The bitter frostbite in him finally began to relent, leaving behind the pins-and-needles of more reasonable function. His mind scrambled to regain coherency after being drowned out by his raging core; the pain from his injuries returned, although not all at once, and his protective skin of ice slowly cracked apart and fell away. He crumbled in stages after that. The crystalline formations holding him together disintegrated in a series of glacial cracks - he collapsed, his body unable to keep him upright, and the white spark of transformation finally caught. His broken shoulders were forced back into place as he was wrenched mercilessly away from the edge of annihilation, and for a long moment he was too stunned to move. 

_Breathe._

He forced himself to inhale too-cold air, was sent into a coughing fit, and pulled himself up. His core had burrowed back into him to hide, and no doubt to heal - _but look at what you destroyed._ He was left amidst massive chunks of broken ice, most flecked with his own ectoplasm. Everything around him was a wreck; the house was little except rubble that had been blasted apart by the unbridled power of his core in desperation, and droplets of still-frozen blood and ectoplasm littered the broken stone floor in all directions. Boiling pools of liquid still rested in the crevices between stones and debris, producing an unearthly mist that clouded the remains of the house, and it was almost too cold to breathe. His fingers went immediately numb; an uncontrollable shiver wracked him. 

In the middle of the carnage was Vlad - or part of him, at least - pinned down by a spike of ice but still writhing. Both of his legs had been crushed and beaten into the stones, and he'd only barely escaped being completely torn apart; despite it, he had minutes at most. He coughed up a delicate spatter of blood, winced, and just for a moment his eyes met with Danny's. 

His mind caught up with what he'd done all at once, and he scrambled to Vlad's side in a panic, reaching out but afraid to touch him as if he could possibly break the man further. "Oh, fuck - Vlad, I didn't - I didn't mean it oh _fuck - "_

Vlad used up the last ounces of strength he had. One mutilated hand got ahold of the front of Danny's shirt, pulling him down so they were face-to-face. He forced down one final fit of coughs, but a thin line of blood slid from between his lips when they curled into a sneer of hatred. "You - you little shit," he spat, before his dying breath could fail him, "I should have - should have killed you when I had the chance. . ." 

Danny's hand came up over the old man's wrist. "I - I'm sorry. . ." He felt it loosen in his grasp, tendons failing one at a time, and when he looked back Vlad's gaze was empty. The last of his pained breaths came to rest, and after that he lay still. 

The old man was dead. Danny had killed him. 

Somehow, despite that he remembered it all - he'd _done_ it, for fuck's sake! - he could hardly believe it. "I didn't - I didn't mean it - " Desperation overtook him. He grabbed ahold of the corpse's shoulders, giving them a shake as if he could simply wake the old man up. "Stop it - please, I'm sorry - goddammit!" He couldn't breathe. _He's dead!_ Desperation turned to panic, but he was paralyzed. _It wasn't my fault!_ He knew that it was. He'd been tortured to the brink of death, and in turn had slaughtered the man that had done it. Didn't that make it even? Wasn't this what he'd wanted - to get even? _Vengeance,_ his core had screamed, and he'd screamed it too. He'd been driven to murder - _murderer! that's what you are!_ \- and he knew there was no taking it back. The blood was on his hands twofold. _How could you do that? He was a fucking human being! Why didn't you stop this?_

It was too much. He had to get away. The ruined house, and the remains of the man who had almost killed him - _monster! that's you!_ \- he had to get away from all of it. He turned, unable to stand the stillness, and stumbled up to his feet. Where would he go? Where _could_ he go? Would he ever make it home? Would it even matter if he did? He neither knew nor cared. 

So he ran, the cold moon his only witness. He ran until he was exhausted, but forced himself onward to the point of collapse. The wilderness was damp and unforgiving, and the trees crowded him in and seemed to poke and jeer. _Murderer!_ they cried, as if passing judgment, _you're not getting away this time!_ He realized it didn't matter where he went, or how long he was running, or who was with him. He'd never get the blood off his hands. He couldn't take it - he screamed, as if he could plead with the sky itself to reverse what he'd done. 

_Murderer. That's what you are._

When his voice gave out and he couldn't scream anymore, he just cried. How in the hell was he supposed to live with himself? Could he even do that? He was _fourteen,_ for fuck's sake, and he'd just singlehandedly killed a man. Archenemy be damned, he was still a _person,_ wasn't he? 

Finally, completely spent, Danny passed out.


	4. Muscle Memory

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on the side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned upward, letting himself relax and stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain, and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party somewhere in town. He dismissed it from his mind, stretching out his shoulder again and turning to the darkened streets below. He wished Sam and Tucker were there. They'd both bailed on him at the last minute, and he sighed. _Damn, that really sucks. Didn't they bail last night too? What's a guy gotta do to hang out with his friends, anyway?_ It would have been a great night for the three of them to be out - not too many ghosts, and the stargazing would be decent. 

He thought he should probably head home. He didn't want to miss curfew again, and he knew his patrols over the weekend would suffer if he were grounded. He was glad his parents and sister were out - he'd almost been dragged along, but had convinced his father that his homework had been piling up, and of _course_ he wasn't going to sneak out to a party or to Sam's house to watch movies on the bigass TV in her basement. Well, he thought, all of that was technically true - he hadn't gone out to Sam's, and he _did_ have a mountain of homework waiting for him at home. _Ugh, don't think about it. Maybe it'll go away._ A guy could hope, right? 

With a sigh, he flew lower through the streets so that he wouldn't see any last-minute troublemakers before he got home. He'd definitely fallen for that one before. If he saw them, he'd have to _deal_ with them, and those were always the ones that threw him off-schedule and got him into trouble. He was certain they'd do it on purpose sometimes just to mess with him - those little formless ones, especially. They'd fly around in some stupid game of hide-and-seek. He hated them. 

Four blocks from his house, he paused. _Oh, god-fucking-dammit._ He hadn't been breathing, but the sensation was all too familiar - he exhaled quickly to keep from giving himself a brainfreeze, ignoring the thin line of mist he exuded. _Happens every time. Been getting a lot of those lately - what, are they inviting their friends to come and play too? Fantastic._ He rose up again, hoping either to spot the offending ghost or to draw it out into a fight, and scanned the cityscape around him. 

Everything below was silent. The moon cast pale silver light across rows of houses and small shops - even the gas station on the corner, which usually saw a fair amount of activity both paranormal and otherwise, was vacant. The lights in some of the houses were still on (it was only nine-thirty on a Friday night, after all), but whatever spirit was making trouble had elected to hide away out of sight. 

_Great. Now I'm gonna be late, and then I'm gonna be grounded, and I'm gonna miss movie night with Sam and Tuck tomorrow._ He debated briefly on whether he should just ignore this and call it a night. He wouldn't be late coming home then; the little ghosts that hid took the longest to weed out and capture, and they'd have no problems eating up the half-hour until curfew. He decided, ultimately, that he'd take care of it anyway. This was supposed to be his job, wasn't it? or something like that, anyhow. 

He slunk again through the streets, paying careful attention to the shadows and listening for things that might be scuttling about in those shadows, and almost on instinct he honed in on an abandoned building two blocks over. _Yeah, I got a lock on you - bet it's that empty coffeeshop, too._ The ghostly voice in him was his guide in matters like these; he'd learned, in his time away from the living, that it knew the ins and outs of being dead. It could react much more quickly than he could on a conscious level (which, admittedly, came in handy in a fair number of fights); other times, it would jeer and poke fun - _scared of the dark? how childish_ \- at things he'd do or how he'd feel. It just came with being a ghost, he supposed. That was probably the closest he'd get to a definite answer. Who would he ask about it, anyway, even if he wanted to? 

He drifted on a slight breeze up to the side of the empty shop, and listened for signs of activity from inside. The echo of two somethings sliding together confirmed it - _oh yeah, there's definitely a ghost in there._ He reached down without looking and unclipped the thermos from his belt. He hoped he'd catch the spirit by surprise - _please, can I not be grounded this week?_ He faded out of the air in an instant, phasing through the bricks and into the empty coffeeshop. The green ring around his vision allowed him to see: stacks of disused chairs and tables, the bar in the rear, a couple of shelves to one side. 

Danny paused. Hadn't he just had a fight here last night? Last week? Little was disturbed; it couldn't have been a popular haunt, and yet - he frowned, unable to remember any details. It had been here, hadn't it? He turned about, as if that might help him at all. _Shelves on that side, chairs, tables. . ._ His eyes rested on the door to the rear, propped open by a forgotten cardboard box. _That looks right._ He floated forward, unseen, and kept his eyes on the doorway to the back area. Something just out of sight on the other side glowed faintly; he could sense the spirit - _I know you're in there_ \- and without making a sound he crept closer. 

At the last second, he paused. _Something's not right._ He was overcome with a sudden feeling; it wasn't a _bad_ feeling, at least not immediately - the fuckor that hit him if he realized he'd forgotten about an important test, the steadily rising panic when he began to lose a fight, the dread that built up in the pit of his stomach if he thought too much about either of his parents finding out about his secret. What was it, then? 

He only had a second to figure it out. He crept up and peered through the open doorframe; the little glowing thing had been left on one of the steel work-tables, and his mind and body fell a second out of time in a flash of bizarre recollection. His mind went first: something hit him, but he didn't know what, and he was thrown into the work-table, and - 

He was hit from behind and knocked out of the air. He landed on the hard tile floor, thermos skittering out of his hand and into some corner, and he twisted around to fight as his instincts kicked in. He was hit again; he crashed into the work-table, doing his best to shake the dizziness out of his head, but it was no use. He was ensnared and hopelessly tangled up in seconds, and as his mind caught up with him he began to panic. _Wait, how did I know - ?_ He was able to pull one of his hands free, and yanked at the steel cables holding him down - 

He only had time to sense the spirit behind him before he was struck with a solid blow to the head and fell out of consciousness. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and he'd been hunting down a ghost - he remembered the empty shop, too, and a little blinking thing sitting on the table, but things started to get hazy after that. Had he been in a fight? Had he _lost_ this fight? That hadn't happened to him in a while. 

As he came into full awareness, he realized that wasn't right. He hadn't lost a fight so much as been ambushed. _Oh, shit, that's definitely worse._ His hands, he found, had been tied together behind his back, and a length of heavy chain linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the brick wall over his head. He slid himself up into an awkward sitting position, taking in the room around him. There wasn't much space - ten feet on a side, at most; it was dark, but not pitch-black thanks to the glowing ring around his vision; the remaining three walls were made of metal; a reinforced steel door stood to the far side, locked; a small control panel, inactive, presented itself in the corner, well out of his reach. 

It took him a second after that to recognize the feeling that struck him all of a sudden. He'd gotten it in the shop, too - it had only been for a second, but he'd _known_ about the ambush before it had actually happened. Hadn't he? At least, it had felt like he had. Was that possible? Was there any other kind of explanation for it? More importantly - could he do it again? He glanced again about the room, but the only feeling he got was a knot of dread that twisted itself up in his stomach. 

He did his best not to panic. He twisted his wrists once or twice, as if the straps binding them might fall away; failing that, he meant to fade through them and render them useless. He was a ghost, after all, nevermind the fact that he'd been one the whole time, and nevermind that the feeling in the back of his mind persisted whenever his eyes wandered the room. He slid himself back up against the bricks and took a deep breath - _really? still doing that?_ \- in an effort to calm himself. _Don't panic. You'll be fine, right? So maybe your powers are shorted out again. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened. Just think for a second, you'll get out of here no problem. You always do._

_Don't you?_

Something, though, didn't add up. It only took him a second to realize it: why was he still dead, if his ghostly abilities were useless? He tried a few of his powers again; nothing happened. _Okay, that's new, maybe there's another way out of here - _

The steel door in the corner slid open and Danny froze. The sudden light from the open frame made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He felt small all of a sudden, but refused to acknowledge it concretely; at the very least, he wouldn't let on and allow the old ghost any satisfaction. He steeled himself. 

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little spirit before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake - you're just in time for tea, you know. How thoughtful of you to drop in." Under most circumstances, there was a pretentious smugness that came with the mockery; he almost found himself enjoying it, as he so often did, and certainly he _would_ have enjoyed it were it not for the more pressing matters in his mind. He'd set the trap for the unruly little ghost for a reason, of course. He was simply itching to get his business underway - _but the formalities must not be ignored,_ he'd reminded himself beforehand. He was, unfortunately, a bit of a stickler about those. 

"Plasmius," Danny growled, stamping down the growing pit of dread in him. _Damned if he won't hold it over your head if you let even one bit of it on._ He wasn't scared, not really. _You should be_ \- he swatted it away, hoping it would help. It didn't; he was glad, at the very least, that he didn't have a racing heartbeat to give him away. He held the old ghost's stare, determined to be as much of a thorn as possible until he could break free. "Should have known it was you." 

Vlad remained stiff. "Yes, I suppose you should have," he said flatly, "Now tell me something, Daniel. I'd like the honest truth, if you're even capable of providing such a thing." 

"Bullshit, you think I'm - ?" 

Vlad cut the little ghost off with a swift kick to the stomach. He watched Danny buckle, the bored facade returning despite the fact that it had been rather satisfying, and sighed. "I suppose I'm the one who should have known better, really. Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you. You'd never tell me anything no matter how nicely I asked, would you?" 

Danny regained himself. He forced in a breath, just to make sure none of his ribs had broken - _now, what might that be?_ \- and glowered up again at his captor. "You call this asking nice?" He spat the words out just to be recalcitrant, and did his best to ignore his growing dread. _Don't you let any of that on, he'll hold it over your head, you know he will._

Vlad leaned abruptly forward, hands clasped behind his back, and made Danny flinch. He was unblinking; his voice had fallen to almost a whisper. "Why, yes, I think so. Wouldn't you like to see me when I'm not nice? I'm not playing games today, dear boy - if you can't hold that unruly tongue of yours I may just cut it out." 

"You wouldn't," Danny snapped. At least, he'd meant it like one; it had come out with less certainty than he'd wanted. _Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you._ A spike of fuckor struck him, and his cheeky facade faltered. _How many do you think you'll keep?_ The doubts in him were rising again, and he couldn't keep shoving them down. Vlad wasn't usually so stone-faced; he wasn't a man to make idle threats, either. _You're not getting away - not this time._ His fingers grasped at the ties around his wrists; with any luck at all, his ghost powers would come back soon - they always did, when he needed them to. Didn't they? 

Vlad straightened again. He allowed himself only a brief moment of smugness - _oh, won't you look at that, he thinks he'll break free!_ \- before giving Danny a slow shake of the head. "Try if you like, but you're not getting away - not this time. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. Even the merest shred of decency is asking too much of you, isn't it? To be able to hold a conversation - why, what would be just preposterous. I'm beginning to think that you're not worth it, and I'm simply _exhausted_ of it all - " 

Danny faltered. _You're not getting away - not this time._ "No, wait, hold on, how did you - ?" 

Vlad lost his patience all at once, delivering a second kick that clipped Danny in the ear and sent him reeling. His hands crackled as he formed a pair of energy blasts; he held them just long enough for Danny to get his bearings again, and released them both at once. 

Danny's head spun. Panic struck him, if only for a moment; he scrambled, not caring where, but the next thing he knew he'd been grabbed by the collar of his suit and hauled off his feet. Something cold had begun to run down the side of his neck - _am I bleeding?_ \- and he cut through the static of pain that clamored across the side of his head. How had he known - how _could_ he have known - what was to be said? The thought had struck him seconds before the words had come out of Vlad's mouth; without a single discrepancy in cadence or tone, could it even be called a coincidence? 

Vlad was silent. _Oh, he's run out of banter already? What a relief._ He supposed, then, that he'd be taking the remainder of his satisfaction for the evening out of the boy by force. That was how he imagined it, at least. He had plenty of time to kill, after all - and why rush a thing like that? His hands lit up again, electrocuting the little spirit in his grip. 

Danny froze up, unable to think or to twist himself away. Everything in him wrenched at once. In his mind he was screaming but he couldn't make a sound, much less break free. Only when Vlad dropped him did he regain any function whatsoever; before coherent thought, he scrambled away and slid up into the corner. He realized that his skin had begun to smoke. 

Dead or not, he wasn't meant to take that kind of abuse. He changed - or, at least, he meant to - but could only manage a faint spark instead of the white flash that he wanted. The spark tried again, like an engine that turned over but wouldn't quite catch, but then gave up. He couldn't transform back - _of course you can't, you idiot_ \- and that was on top of his ghost powers being useless. Despite himself, he panicked. "I can't - I can't - ! _What did you do to me?"_

A thin and joyless smile spread across Vlad's face. He regarded Danny - wide-eyed and just beginning to realize exactly how far in over his head he'd gotten - and leaned over the boy again just to see him flinch. "Oh, splendid. It seems to be working properly - one of those little things I've gotten around to putting together. I've never tested it before now, you know. Things like that can't be used on just any old ghost out there, dear boy, only those caught in the between like us. Now, I'm no fool - I couldn't _possibly_ be expected to try a thing like that out on myself, now, could I? Why, that might have been dangerous! How fortunate for me that you just-so-happened to drop in! Now I know for sure - it will keep you from crawling back to life the moment your ghostly form is hurt, and we can find out _exactly_ where the limits of existence lie." 

Something in Danny twisted. It was the realization that he _wasn't_ going to escape, no matter how many times he told himself he would. _You're not getting out of here. Not this time._ It was absolute, as if he already knew how this was going to end. _He's not really going to kill me - is he?_ He stared up at Vlad again in growing desperation. "You're out of your mind - don't do this, I - ! Stop it, get away from me - !" 

"Oh, it's far too late for that now!" Vlad crowed, advancing again, "I'll get my pound of flesh from you yet - I said I wasn't playing games, boy, and I meant exactly that!" 

"I said _get away from me!"_ Danny struck out before he could think, planting both feet just under Vlad's ribs if only to put some space between them. _You know he'll get you for that one, you're not getting out, you never will, no matter how many bones he breaks!_ Panic was fraying him; he tried again to wrench one of his hands free - _just one, even? fuck's sake!_ \- but with no luck. 

By the time he saw Vlad coming at him again it was too late. A sharp spear of solidified ectoplasmic energy struck right through him - _is this how I die?_ \- and his body froze up completely. A second later the pain hit him, and he crumpled. _He'll get you for that one._ The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; he clung to consciousness, but his vision fell out of focus. Something in him sputtered and then gave out. The spear fizzled quietly out of existence, but the damage was done - a bright splatter of luminescent green, hundreds of stinging electric needles, and the burning refusal to quit. _Don't you dare give up, you bastard, not this time!_ It took almost everything he had not to pass out, but the ghastly voice in him forced him up. 

With his hands tied behind him, and none of his ghostly abilities, he could do very little except hold himself together. _Jesus, am I going to bleed out?_ Something told him he wouldn't. He spat out a mouthful of ectoplasm - _dammit, you can't die now_ \- and he forced himself to meet Vlad's eyes again. "You sonofabitch - " 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" said Vlad, knowing full well exactly how much of a threat Danny posed at the moment. He was relatively certain the boy wouldn't bleed out, although he did take note of the little white sparks that tried once more to trigger his transformation back to human. He began to suspect he'd be seeing a lot of those. _Oh, how nice. Learning new things already, are we?_ One hand rested on the chain attached to the hook bolted into the bricks, and just for a second he gave Danny a pleasant smile. "Let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?" 

Something sparked through the buzzing cloud of panic in Danny's mind. It was only a flash - _broken joints and flayed limbs; a handprint of blood_ \- but he didn't have time to understand it. He was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant as he was hoisted off the floor, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else, of course; his mind had tried to shut the pain out hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Whatever could be done to him was done. Four of his teeth had been pulled out; he was electrocuted nearly to a husk, not once but twice; one of his hands had been stripped to the bone with meticulous precision; the skin flayed away up to the shoulder joint, baring ethereal flesh; branded by red-hot instruments of all sorts; speared, pried apart, and held open for further experimentation; his lungs both punctured, just to see if he still needed them; crushed past anything any living being was meant to withstand; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; bludgeoned; partially eviscerated; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn back together afterwards only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and pleading for his afterlife. 

Vlad just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - I simply can't wait to go through the readings on this one - oh, haven't I broken that before? in that fight, why, yes, I think I have, awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as he was performing any kind of tests, maybe more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. He knew a great deal about human anatomy, of course, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost - was that his heart? Did he even need one of those? Was it just left over from his time as human? "My," he murmured, intrigued, "Now, what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind one way or another. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm, not caring what Vlad might break next but only that there was a moment of coveted silence before he did. His mind had fallen into a haze, unable to keep up with the torturous ghost's whims, and he knew he was almost spent. What could he have left, after all this? He'd given up more than he'd even known he'd had. He wished it would end, no matter whether he was cut free or cut down. _Any second now,_ said something in him, although he couldn't think anything beyond that. 

Vlad's attention had already fallen to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. Irradiated green stained everything in the wound, and had soaked through the fibers of the boy's suit, but whatever was glowing was hidden deeper within him. The thought occurred to Vlad at once: _is that his core?_ He'd never seen one exposed before. _Yes, that must be it, mustn't it?_ Things had suddenly become interesting again, and he pried two of Danny's broken ribs apart so that he could reach in with his other hand. 

The second his fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into light, blinding him as if if were the sun and forcing him back. It took him a moment to understand what was happening - a core in desperation could lash out with the last of its stored energy, according to what he'd read. Was this it? Could Danny be reeled in from such a state? Had Vlad finally pushed him over the edge? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made, it was too late. 

Danny knew it was too late, too. Something sparked in his mind at the same instant that his core wrenched control away from him - _spatters of crimson and lime_ \- and everything in him burst into rage. He screamed anew, not any mortal sound but a piercing screech that rattled the room and everything in it. The air turned cold as his core siphoned up impossible amounts of fuel; the ectoplasm staining his suit froze; his wounds bled something foggy and white, neither human nor ghost, that spilled over the border between liquid and vapor; flakes of ice-blue bloomed across his skin, grew together like crystals in his bleeding eye sockets, formed into a mangled bludgeon of ice over his flayed hand and arm. The straps that kept his wrists tied together stiffened and became brittle; one practiced twist made them crack and crumble apart, and his useless arms fell. His core kept him suspended, casting a furious glow in between his broken ribs and out through the liquefied fog pouring from the wound torn into his chest. 

Danny lowered himself slowly, still functionally blind. His body was fragile and nearly useless; he stood but bore no weight, and his shoulders slumped off-kilter. His remaining fingers bent and unbent like claws searching for something to tear. Ice directed his movements as he threw his head back and he shrieked like a storm through the house. He knew that Vlad had run - _that bastard! I'll rip him in two!_ \- and that it would only be a matter of minutes until he was dead. His core, fueling itself with the last bit of heat it could scrape together, stoked his hatred. 

Danny made his way, blind but hunting on instinct, through the bowels of the torturous ghost's house. His core was leading him, but he was still conscious; he knew, and he'd known the second that Vlad had touched his core, how his hunt was going to end. _A handprint of human blood; should have killed you when I had the chance._ Reasoning was beyond him, and his rampaging core had clouded his mind and filled it with hatred - any hesitation was shoved effortlessly aside in favor of the imminent ruin of the labs and everything in them. 

Only when he shot up to the higher levels of the house did his core even falter; he had seconds, at most, to reel himself in. It was impossible. He took off again, the burning frostbite skewing his will as he sought out the ghost that had thrown him over the edge. _Crush him! tear him limb from limb! make him pay!_ He slammed up against the heavy double doors once, using his flayed arm as an instrument of blunt force. A second attack forced them off their hinges. 

The doors exploded inwards, along with the stonework that had held them and enormous shards of broken ice; Danny landed on the fine carpet, useless legs hanging under him. His core pulled like strings at the ice over his limbs and across his face. His head tilted to one side but he was locked onto the old man; his inhuman snarl glistened in fluorescent green, armed with new shards of teeth in the stead of the ones that had been pulled out - _everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you_ \- and the last of his conscious mind succumbed to the raging bloodlust that screeched in his ears. 

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. He was in almost full panic; he'd become increasingly frantic when the upper levels of the house had begun to heave, but he hadn't had the nerve to go down and see the boy's final throes for himself. It was too late now; his _throes_ had led him right to the old man, and Vlad was sudenly uncertain whether he could win this fight even if he were to attack again. The little ghost may have been teetering on the brink of oblivion, or he may have been in full control - but did it matter, really? Vlad hated to admit it but he wasn't going to wait and find out for sure. The cold struck him the second the menace appeared, and he became suddenly aware of just how alone he was. _You live alone, remember? You've done so for years, and quite on purpose!_ Something else in him, though, was chiding. _You've done this to yourself, you know. Is this really what you wanted?_ He admitted, with great reluctance, that it wasn't. _Is he still even sentient? Is he too far gone?_ The boy's eyeless gaze was piercing; Vlad's movements were traced seemingly in instinct alone, and Danny's head shifted slightly to follow him when he took a step back. _Can't you reel him in from this? Is that even possible?_ "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the delicate unease that threatened at any moment to curdle into outright terror. "Daniel, don't you think - maybe you'd best calm down, and - just _look_ at you, why, I - " 

_"Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, slamming an icy fist through the side of the bed-frame, _"You did this to me! This is your fault!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded Vlad directly. The only thing left that he could feel was vengeance, fed by his raging core; everything else had been stamped out. He sprung into action. He pounced once at the cowardly old ghost, demolishing the wardrobe with a smash of his flayed hand. Honed in on Vlad's movements, he shook off the splinters and lunged again. 

For what was perhaps the first time, Vlad had begun to fear for his like. He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack - _can he even still be called that? he's a monstrosity!_ \- but even being in the same room was overwhelming. _Monstrosity? You've pushed him to it, and you've laughed through every ounce of that_ \- he shoved the impudent voice out of his head, and fled out through the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. _You did this you did this you did this - _

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. _Make him pay! Tear his head off! Crush him! Destroy him!_ He leapt up, catching one corner of the dreadful spirit's cape in his claw, and they both tumbled to a halt on the stones. Danny's frozen body cracked someplace; Vlad just sprawled, and tried to scramble back up to his feet. He was yelling now but Danny didn't care; he bit and tore and smashed and howled in an uncontrollable frenzy, spraying drops of ectoplasm that froze midair and shattered against the floor. He hardly noticed when the drops of lime gave way to drops of crimson - Vlad's ghostly form was torn to shreds, and he was wrenched back to the living in its absence. It didn't matter between one body or another. Danny had no trouble crushing them both. 

Only when his core was satisfied with the damage was Danny able to think. He hung over what was left of the enemy, panting, his horrible weapon of ice broken up around the edges and stained twofold. The bitter frostbite finally began to relent, leaving the buzz of pins-and-needles in its wake. His mind scrambled to regain coherency after being drowned out by his raging core; the pain from his injuries returned, although not all at once, and his protective skin of ice slowly cracked apart and fell away. He crumbled in stages after that. The crystalline formations holding him together disintegrated in a series of glacial cracks - he collapsed, his body unable to keep him upright, and the white spark of transformation finally caught. His broken shoulders were forced back into place as he was wrenched mercilessly from the edge of annihilation, and for a long moment he was too stunned to move. 

_Breathe._

He forced himself to inhale too-cold air, was sent into a coughing fit, and pulled himself up. His core had burrowed back into him to hide, and no doubt to heal - _but look at what you destroyed._ He was left amidst massive chunks of broken ice, most flecked with his own ectoplasm. Everything around him was a wreck; the house was little except rubble that had been blasted apart by the unbridled power of his core in desperation, and droplets of still-frozen blood and plasma littered the broken stone floor in all directions. The corner of a destroyed painting sat, half-submerged, in boiling pools of liquid that had collected in the crevices between stones and debris. An unearthly mist clouded the remains of the house, and it was still almost too cold to breathe. His fingers went immediately numb; an uncontrollable shiver wracked him. 

In the midst of the carnage was Vlad - or part of him, at least - pinned down by a spike of ice but still writhing. Both of his legs had been crushed and beaten into the stones, and he'd only barely escaped being completely eviscerated; despite it, he had minutes at most. He coughed up a delicate spatter of blood, winced, and when his eyes met with Danny's they were unbearable. 

Danny's mind caught up with what he'd done all at once - _why didn't you stop this?_ \- and he scrambled to Vlad's side in a panic, reaching out but afraid to touch him as if he could possibly break the man further. "Oh, fuck - oh, _fuck_ \- I didn't - " 

Vlad used up the last ounces of strength he had. One mutilated hand got ahold of the front of Danny's shirt, pulling him down so they were face-to-face. He forced down one final fit of coughs, but a thin line of blood slid from between his lips when they curled into a sneer of hatred. "You little shit," he spat, before his dying breath could fail him, and Danny's mind echoed the rest. 

_I should have killed you when I had the chance._

Danny's hand came up over the old man's wrist. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean it - " He felt it loosen in his grasp, tendons failing one at a time, and when he looked back Vlad's gaze was empty. The last of his pained breaths came to rest, and after that he lay still. 

The old man was dead. Danny had killed him. 

He could hardly believe it. Despite that he remembered it all - he'd _done_ it, for fuck's sake! - it had begun almost to blur into a nightmarish haze. _Why don't you just keel over?_ More than anything, he wanted to take it back. How could he? Desperation overtook him. He grabbed ahold of the corpse's shoulders, giving them a shake as if he could simply wake the old man up. "Stop it - please, I'm sorry, I don't - I don't want to be a murderer. . ." 

_Murderer. That's what you are._

Danny couldn't breathe. Tears froze in the corners of his eyes, blurring the old man and everything around him. _Wouldn't you like that? to smear it all away?_ Desperation turned to panic, but he was paralyzed. It was his fault and he knew it. He'd been tortured to the brink of death and in return had slaughtered the man that had done it. Didn't that make it even? Wasn't this what he'd wanted - to get even? When all was said and done, the blood was on his hands twofold. _Why didn't you stop this?_

It was too much. He had to get away. The ruined house, and the remains of the man that had almost killed him - _murderer!_ \- he had to get away from all of it. He turned, unable to stand the stillness, and stumbled up to his feet. Everything in his human body was numb, but he found that it wasn't better. Where would he go? Where _could_ he go? Would he ever make it home? Would anything he'd done be justified, so long as he _did_ make it home? 

He knew that it wouldn't. 

So he ran, the cold moon his only witness. He ran until he was exhausted, but forced himself onward to the point of collapse. The wilderness was damp and unforgiving, and the trees crowded him in and seemed to poke and jeer. _Monster!_ they cried, as if passing judgment, _you're not getting away this time! _ It didn't matter where he went, or how long he was running, or who was with him. He'd never get the blood off his hands. He couldn't take it - he screamed, as if he could plead with the sky itself to reverse what he'd done. 

_How much of it would you really take back?_

When his voice gave out and he couldn't scream anymore, he just cried. How in the hell was he supposed to live with himself? Could he even do that? He was _fourteen,_ for fuck's sake, and he'd just singlehandedly killed a man. 

Finally, completely spent, Danny passed out.


	5. Nagging

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on the side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned upward, letting himself relax and stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain, and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party somewhere in town. He dismissed it from his mind, stretching out his shoulder again and turning to the darkened streets below. _What's the hurry - you've still got half an hour, don't you?_ He drifted down to the molded plastic roof of the structure, sprawling out along its spine, and folded his hands behind his head. He winced - _did I land on that side funny?_ \- and gave up, letting his arms hang over the sides as he stared up at the stars. 

He didn't realize how stressed he'd been until it all began to fall away. Stargazing did that to him, he found; it could erase a bad day in minutes, especially when the moon was just a sliver in the sky. Even without the astronomy book he'd gotten for his birthday, or a red flashlight with which to read it in the dark, he could always spot a dozen constellations off-hand. He pointed them out to himself one at a time, in order, from one end of the sky to the other. 

He wished Sam and Tucker were there. He missed them - _that's stupid, didn't you just see them at school?_ \- and he wanted to talk to them. Was that why he'd been so stressed? He assumed so. He'd hoped they would have come with him tonight, but they'd both bailed at the last minute. Sam had said she'd had homework; Tucker hadn't been specific. _Damn, that really sucks. Haven't they been bailing out all week? What's a guy gotta do to hang out with his friends, anyway?_

He thought he should probably head home. He didn't want to miss curfew again, and he knew his patrols over the weekend would suffer if he were grounded. He was glad that his parents and sister were out - he'd almost been dragged along, but had convinced his father that his homework had been piling up, and of _course_ he wasn't going to sneak out to a party or to Sam's to watch movies on the bigass TV in her basement. Well, he thought, all of that was technically true. He hadn't gone out to Sam's, and he _did_ have a mountain of homework waiting for him at home. _Ugh, don't think about it. Maybe it'll go away on its own._ A guy could hope, right? 

With a sigh, he flew lower through the streets so that he wouldn't see any last-minute troublemakers before he got home. He'd been finding a lot of those lately, he remembered. There'd been one, either last night or the night before that, just a block or two over. That was probably why he was one missed curfew away from being grounded, and he knew those little pests were doing it on purpose. 

Four blocks from his house, he paused. _Oh, god-fucking-dammit, not again._ He hadn't been breathing, but the sensation was all too familiar - he exhaled quickly to keep from giving himself a brainfreeze, ignoring the thin line of mist he exuded. _Happens every time. I swear to god, it had better not be that empty shop again,_ he grumbled to himself, his mood soured by the inevitable grounding he'd get if he was out too late. He debated briefly on whether he should just ignore this and call it a night. Part of him really wanted to; he wouldn't be late coming home then. He decided, ultimately, that he'd take care of it anyway. This was supposed to be his job, wasn't it? or something like that, anyhow. They still didn't pay him for this shit, though. 

He slunk again through the streets, paying careful attention to the shadows and listening for things that might be scuttling about in those shadows, and without thinking much about it he honed in on the abandoned building two blocks over. _Yeah, I got a lock on you - you can't hide from me._ The ghostly voice in him was his guide in matters like these; it only voiced itself when he transformed, and as often as not it would jeer and poke fun - _breathing? still doing that?_ \- but it provided the intuition he needed to weed out the unquiet dead, and it was only the times like these when he wouldn't do his best to tune it out. 

He drifted on a breeze up to the side of the empty shop, catching the echo of two somethings sliding together from somewhere inside; that confirmed it. _Oh, yeah, there's definitely a ghost in there._ He reached down without looking and unclipped the thermos from his belt - _skittered out of his hand and into some corner_ \- and he paused. Where had that come from? It had only sparked through his mind for an instant - had he had a fight here before? He glanced up at the storefront facade. The sign was long gone, but he knew, even before he drifted inside, what it had been. He hardly had to glance around the interior - _shelves on that side, chairs, tables. . ._ He wondered how long the place had been closed down. Had it been open when he was small? Was that why it struck him like it did? 

No, that wasn't right, either. He realized that he couldn't conjure an image of what it might have looked like - he'd just _known,_ and after thinking about it for a moment it occurred to him that he'd known ahead of time. _It had better not be that empty shop again._ Little inside was disturbed; if he'd ever had a fight here, it couldn't have been recently. He stood in the empty space, thermos in hand but suddenly unsure. _I know I've been here - why can't I remember when?_

His eyes rested on the door to the rear, propped open by a forgotten cardboard box. A spike of dread hit him, although for the life of him he couldn't say why. _Something's not right_ was the closest he could articulate, but it was wholly beyond that and he knew it. He hesitated, even, to investigate, even though he knew that was how he'd get any answers. Something pulled at him. _Go home, then,_ it said, but he ignored it. He floated forward, unseen, and kept his eyes on the doorway to the back area. Something just out of sight on the other side glowed faintly; he could sense the spirit - _I know you're in there_ \- and without making a sound he crept closer and peered through the open doorframe. 

The little glowing thing had been left on one of the steel work-tables, and fuckor pierced him as his mind and body fell a second out of time. His mind went first: something hit him but he didn't know what, and he was thrown into the work-table, and - 

He was hit from behind and knocked out of the air. He landed on the hard tile floor, thermos skittering out of his hand and into some corner, and he twisted around to fight as his instincts kicked in. He was hit again; he crashed into the work-table, doing his best to shake the dizziness out of his head, but it was too late. He was ensnared and hopelessly tangled up in seconds - _how did I do that_ \- and he began to panic. He was able to pull one of his hands free, and yanked at the steel cables wrapped around him - 

He could only see a flicker of the shadow behind him before he was struck with a solid blow to the head and fell out of consciousness. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and he'd been hunting down a ghost - he remembered the empty shop, too, and the little blinking thing sitting on the table. He'd been in a fight, hadn't he? 

No, he remembered. He hadn't been caught in a fight so much as a trap. _Oh, shit. Oh, fuck, that's definitely worse._ His hands, he found, had been tied together behind his back and a length of heavy chain - _let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?_ \- linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the bricks over his head. He slid himself up into an awkward sitting position, twisting his wrists once or twice as if the straps binding them might fall away - _oh, they will_ \- and, failing that, he meant to fade through them to render them useless. He was still a ghost, after all - _and isn't it getting old?_ He swatted at the voice in him out of habit. He hated how it nagged him; it was as if it was holding him to a hundred impossible standards at once, and wouldn't tell him about a single one until he failed to meet them, and then it'd scold him for it. Ghostly intuition, perhaps - but, more often than not, it was just a pain in the ass, and it wasn't helping him out any. 

He slid himself up against the bricks and took a deep breath. The air was so stale down here - why hadn't he quit earlier, while he was ahead? _Idiot,_ he chided himself, without any meaning behind it. He had the same feeling that he'd had in the shop - it had only been for a second, but he'd known about the ambush before it had actually happened. Hadn't he? _Yeah, I did,_ he realized. _How did I do that?_ More importantly - could he do it again? He glanced again about the room, hoping to spark something - _maybe a way out of here?_ \- but the only feeling he got was a knot of dread that twisted itself up in his stomach. 

He did his best not to panic. _You'll be fine, right? So maybe your powers are shorted out again. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened. Just think for a second, you'll get out of here. You always do._

_Don't you?_

He hated that uncertainty, but it was unshakable. He tried to spark something else, anything else, like what had come to him in the empty shop. How he'd managed it was beyond him - _oh, really? beyond you?_ \- but he had to know, even if it was only a few seconds, and even if it wouldn't set him free. He had to know, just to prove to himself that he could do it. Would that make it a new power? He'd find out. 

The steel door in the corner slid open and Danny froze. The sudden light from the open frame made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He felt small all of a sudden, but refused to acknowledge it concretely; at the very least, he wouldn't let on and allow the old ghost any satisfaction. He steeled himself. 

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little spirit before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake - you're just in time for tea, you know. How thoughtful of you to drop in." Under most circumstances, there was a pretentious smugness that came with the mockery; if it weren't for the more pressing matters in his mind, perhaps he would have found himself enjoying it. As it was, the formalities couldn't be ignored; he was, unfortunately, a bit of a stickler about those. 

"Plasmius," Danny growled, stamping down the growing pit of dread in him. _Damned if he won't hold it over your head if you let even one bit of it on._ He wasn't scared - not really. _You should be_ \- he shoved the voice away, hoping it would help. It didn't. "Should have known it was you." He realized, the moment that he'd said it, that he _should_ have known - who else could he possibly have expected it to be, if he were really honest with himself? 

Vlad remained stiff. "Yes, I suppose you should have," he said flatly, "Now tell me something, Daniel. I'd like the honest truth, if you're even capable of providing such a thing." 

"Bullshit - " Danny blurted, catching himself even though he was certain it was too late. What would he have said, if he'd even had the chance? 

Vlad cut the little ghost off with a swift kick to the stomach. He watched Danny buckle, the bored facade returning despite the fact that it was rather satisfying, and sighed. "I suppose I'm the one that should have known better, really. Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you. You'd never tell me anything no matter how nicely I asked, would you?" 

Danny regained himself. He forced in a breath, just to make sure none of his ribs were broken - _now, what might that be?_ \- and glowered up again at his captor. "You call this asking nice?" He spat the words out just to be recalcitrant, and only realized a second afterward how stale they'd tasted. Why? He didn't have an answer for that, just like he didn't have an answer for anything else that had happened that night. _Maybe you'll figure it out, maybe you'll get out of here, maybe you won't - but don't you dare flinch._

Vlad leaned abruptly forward, hands clasped behind his back, and made Danny flinch anyway. He was unblinking; his voice fell to almost a whisper. "Why, yes, I think so. Wouldn't you like to see me when I'm not nice? I'm not playing games today, dear boy - if you can't hold that unruly tongue of yours I may just cut it out." 

"You wouldn't," Danny snapped. At least, he'd meant it like one; it had come out with less certainty than he'd wanted. _Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you. How many do you think you'll keep?_ A spike of fuckor struck him, and his cheeky facade faltered. _This really is beyond you, isn't it?_ The voice in him was nagging again, and he couldn't keep shoving it down. _You're not getting away - not this time._ His fingers grasped at the ties around his wrists; with any luck at all, his ghost powers would come back soon - they always did, when he needed them to. 

Didn't they? 

Vlad straightened again. He allowed himself only a brief moment of smugness - _oh, won't you look at that, he thinks he'll break free!_ \- before giving Danny a slow shake of the head. "Try if you like, but you're not getting away - not this time. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. Even the merest shred of decency is asking too much of you, isn't it? To be able to hold a conversation - why, that would be just preposterous. I'm beginning to think that you're not worth it, and I'm simply _exhausted_ of it all - " 

Danny faltered. _You're not getting away - not this time._ "No, wait, how did you - " 

Vlad lost his patience all at once, delivering a second kick that clipped Danny in the ear and sent him reeling. His hands crackled as he formed a pair of energy blasts; he held them just long enough for Danny to get his bearings again, and released them both at once. 

Danny's head spun. Panic struck him, if only for a moment; he scrambled, not caring where, but the next thing he knew he'd been grabbed by the collar of his suit and hauled off his feet. Something cold had begun to run down the side of his neck - _am I bleeding?_ \- and he cut through the static of pain that clamored across the side of his head. He'd done it again - only by seconds, but he'd done it. The thought had struck him before the words had come out of Vlad's mouth. Even so - what did it matter, unless it could help him find his way out of this? He couldn't fight, he couldn't run, and he couldn't even transform - what did that leave him with? 

Not much. 

Vlad was silent. _Oh, he's run out of banter already? What a relief._ He supposed, then, that he'd be taking the remainder of his satisfaction for the evening out of the boy by force. That was how he imagined it, at least. He had plenty of time to kill, after all - and why rush a thing like that? His hands lit up again, electrocuting the little spirit in his grip. 

Danny froze up, unable to think or to twist himself away. Everything in him wrenched at once. In his mind he was screaming but he couldn't make a sound, much less break free. Only when Vlad dropped him did he regain any function whatsoever; before coherent thought, he scrambled away and slid up into the corner. He realized that his skin had begun to smoke. 

Dead or not, he wasn't meant to take that kind of abuse. He changed - or, at least, he meant to. He could feel the spark doing its best to catch; it tried once, twice, and then quit. He'd known he couldn't transform - _yes, you did already know that, didn't you?_ \- and he realized he knew why. "You - you did this to me. . ." 

A thin and joyless smile spread across Vlad's face. He regarded Danny - wide-eyed and realizing just how far in over his head he'd gotten - and leaned over the boy again. "Quite right, my boy. I'm so glad that little contraption seems to be working properly - I've never tested it before, you know. It isn't a thing that can be used on just any old ghost out there, only those caught in the between like us. Now, I couldn't _possibly_ be expected to try it out on myself, now, could I? Why, that might have been dangerous! How fortunate for me that you just-so-happened to step in! Now I know for sure - it will keep you from crawling back to life the moment your ghostly form is hurt, and we can find out _exactly_ where the limits of existence lie." 

Something in Danny twisted. It was the realization that, no, he _wasn't_ going to escape. _Not this time around._ It was absolute, as if he already knew how this was going to end. _He's not really going to kill me - is he?_ He stared up at Vlad again in growing desperation. "You're out of your mind - don't do this, I - ! Stop it, get away from me - !" 

"Oh, it's far too late for that now!" Vlad crowed, advancing again, "I'll get my pound of flesh from you yet - I said I wasn't playing games, boy, and I meant exactly that!" 

"I said _get away from me!"_ Danny struck out before he could think, planting both feet just under Vlad's ribs if only to put some space between them. _You know he'll get you for that one, you're not getting out, not this time around, no matter how many bones he breaks!_ Panic was fraying him; he tried again to wrench his hands free - _just one, even? fuck's sake!_ \- but with no luck. 

He saw Vlad coming at him only a split second before he was hit, and he couldn't twist away. The best he could do was to brace himself - the sharp spear of solidified energy struck right through him, and despite himself he buckled anyway. The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; something in him sputtered and then gave out. The spear fizzled away a moment later but the damage was done - a bright splatter of fluorescent green, hundreds of stinging electric needles, and the burning refusal to quit. He spat out a mouthful of ectoplasm between grit teeth - _this can't be how I die_ \- and forced himself to meet Vlad's eyes again. "Don't do this - you sonofabitch - " 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" said Vlad, knowing full well exactly how much of a threat Danny posed at the moment. He was relatively certain the boy wouldn't bleed out, although he did take note of the little white sparks that tried once more to trigger his transformation back to human. He began to suspect he'd be seeing a lot of those. _Oh, how nice. Learning new things already, are we?_ One hand rested on the chain attached to the hook bolted into the bricks, and just for a second he gave Danny a pleasant smile. "Let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?" 

"No, _don't - !"_ Danny knew - not just had a feeling this time but really _knew_ \- what was about to happen. Panic took over him but it was too late. He was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant as he was hoisted off the floor, and by the time he was suspended form the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else, of course; his mind had tried to shut the pain out hours ago - hours? was that how long he was screaming? - but it was too much. Whatever could be done to him was done. Four of his teeth had been pulled out; he was electrocuted nearly to a husk, not once but twice; one of his hands had been stripped to the bone with meticulous precision; the skin flayed away up to the shoulder joint, baring ethereal flesh; branded by red-hot instruments of all sorts; speared, pried apart, and held open for further experimentation; his lungs both punctured, just to see if he still needed them; crushed past anything any living being was meant to withstand; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; skull bashed against the bricks to the point of caving in; partially eviscerated; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn up afterwards only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and pleading for his afterlife. 

Vlad just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - I simply can't wait to go through the readings on this one - oh, haven't I broken that before? in that fight, why, yes, I think I have, looks awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as he was performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. He knew a great deal about human anatomy, of course, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost - was that his heart? Did he even need one of those, or was it just-for-decoration, as his lungs had turned out to be? "My," he murmured, intrigued, "Now, what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind one way or another. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm. His mind had fallen into a haze, unable to keep up with the torturous ghost's whims, and he knew he was almost spent. He had to be - what else was there left for him to give? He'd lost things he hadn't known he'd had; things in him hurt that he hadn't even known _could_ hurt. He wished it would end, no matter whether he was cut free or cut down. _Any second now,_ said something in him. Blissful numbness took root, as if in anticipation of his demise. He willed it further, without knowing why, and without knowing the consequences. 

Vlad's attention had already fallen to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. Irradiated green stained everything in the wound, and had soaked through the fibers of the boy's suit and pooled below him, but whatever was glowing was hidden deeper within him. The thought occurred to Vlad at once: _is that his core? Yes, that must be it, mustn't it?_ Things had suddenly become interesting again, and he pried two of Danny's ribs apart so he could reach in with his other hand. 

The second his fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into light, blinding him as if it were the sun and forcing him back. It took him a moment to understand what was happening - a core in desperation could lash out with the last of its stored energy, according to what he'd read. Was this it? Could Danny be reeled in from such a state? Had Vlad finally pushed him over the edge? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made, it was too late. 

Danny knew it was too late, too. Something sparked in his mind at the same instant that control was wrenched away from him - _spatters of crimson and lime_ \- and it both repulsed him and fueled him at the same time. His core took charge, hovering over his mind and directing his thoughts as well as his actions. He screamed anew, not any mortal sound but a piercing screech that rattled the room and everything in it; the air turned cold as his core siphoned up impossible amounts of fuel; the ectoplasm staining his suit froze; his wounds bled liquid fog, surrounding him in an inhuman mist; flakes of ice-blue bloomed across his skin, grew together like crystals in his bleeding eye sockets, formed into a mangled bludgeon of ice over his flayed hand and arm. The straps that had kept his wrists tied together stiffened and became brittle; one practiced twist made them crack and crumble apart, and his useless arms fell. His core kept him suspended, casting a furious glow in between his broken ribs and out through the liquefied fog pouring from the wound torn into his chest. 

He lowered himself slowly. His body was fragile and nearly useless, held together by the ice that protected it; he hung over the floor so that he bore no weight, and his shoulders slumped off-kilter. His remaining fingers bent and unbent like claws searching for something to tear. Ice directed his movements as he threw his head back and shrieked like a storm through the house; he knew that Vlad had run - _that bastard! I'll rip him in two!_ \- and that it would only be a matter of minutes until he was dead. His core, fueling itself with the last bit of heat it could scrape together, stoked his hatred. 

Danny made his way through the bowels of the torturous ghost's house, blind but destroying everything in his path. His core was leading him, stamping out any of his conscious thoughts that might hinder it. He knew, and he'd known the second that Vlad had touched his core, how the hunt was going to end. _His frozen body cracked; a handprint of human blood._ The last spark of reason in him knew, too, what was going to happen. _I don't want to be a murderer,_ it squeaked, but the merciless core smacked it away without effort. _Someone's got to keep this shitty body together!_ Just like that, control was wrenched from his mind just as quickly as it had been from his body; now, barely more than an abomination, he made a wreck of everything in his reach. 

Only when he shot up to the higher levels of the house did his core even falter; he had seconds at most - _please, don't make me kill him_ \- to reel himself in. It was impossible. He took off again, the burning frostbite in his core skewing his will as he sought out the ghost that had thrown him over the edge. _Should have killed you when I had the chance - crush him! tear him limb from limb! make him pay!_ He slammed up against the heavy double doors once, using his flayed arm as nothing more than an instrument of blunt force. A second attack forced them off their hinges. 

The doors exploded inwards, along with the stonework that had held them and enormous shards of broken ice; Danny landed on the fine carpet, useless legs hanging under him. His core pulled like strings at the ice over his limbs and across his face. His head tilted to one side but he was locked onto the old man; his inhuman snarl glistened in fluorescent green, armed with new shards of teeth in the stead of the ones that had been pulled out - _everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you_ \- and the last of his conscious mind succumbed to the raging bloodlust that screeched in his ears. 

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. He was in almost full panic; he'd become increasingly frantic when the upper levels of the house had begun to heave, but he hadn't had the nerve to go down and see the boy's final throes for himself. It was too late now; his _throes_ had led him right to the old man, and Vlad was sudenly uncertain whether he could win this fight even if he were to attack again. The little ghost may have been teetering on the brink of oblivion, or he may have been in full control - but did it matter, really? He was still a monstrosity, and he'd still destroyed almost everything in the house. The cold had struck him the second the menace appeared, and he took a step back without meaning to. _You've done this to yourself, you know. Is this really what you wanted?_ He admitted, with great reluctance, that it wasn't. _Is he still even sentient? Is he too far gone?_ The boy's eyeless gaze was piercing; Vlad's movements were traced seemingly on instinct alone, and Danny's head shifted to follow him. _Can't you reel him in from this? Is that even possible? Dear lord, what if you couldn't?_ "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the delicate unease that threatened at any moment to curdle into downright terror, "Daniel, don't you think - maybe you'd best calm down, and - just _look_ at you, why, I - " 

_"Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, slamming an icy fist through the side of the bed-frame, _"You did this to me! This is your fault! You're not getting away! Not this time!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded Vlad directly. Vengeance burned ever-colder in him, fed by his raging core; everything else had been stamped out, and he sprung into action. He pounced once at the cowardly old ghost, demolishing the wardrobe with a smash of his flayed hand. Honed in on Vlad's movements, he shook off the splinters and lunged again. 

For what he thought was the first time, Vlad had begun to fear for his life. He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack - _can he even still be called that? look at him! he's too far gone!_ \- but even being in the same room as the monstrosity was overwhelming. _Monstrosity?_ laughed the voice of his own nagging core, _you've pushed him to it! You made him into that, and you laughed through every ounce of it!_ He shoved the impudent voice out of his head, and fled through the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. _You did this you did this you did this - _

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. _Not this time! Make him pay! Tear his head off!_ He leapt up, catching the corner of the dreadful spirit's cape, and they both tumbled to a halt on the stones. Something in Danny's frozen body cracked - his spine? his leg? it didn't matter - but Vlad just sprawled, scrambling a second later back to his feet. He was yelling now but Danny didn't care; he had the old ghost right in his crosshairs. _Damned if I'm not going to get even! You're not getting away!_ He bit and tore and smashed and howled for as long as his core could sustain it; sprays of ectoplasm froze midair and shattered against the broken stones, and when Vlad's ghostly form was torn to shreds the drops of lime gave way to drops of crimson. It didn't matter between one body or the other. Danny had no trouble crushing them both. 

Only when his core was finished was Danny able to think. He hung over what was left of the enemy, panting, his horrible weapon broken up around the edges and stained twofold. The bitter frostbite finally began to relent, leaving the buzz of pins-and-needles in its wake. His mind scrambled to regain coherency after being drowned out by his raging core; the pain from his injuries returned, although not all at once, and his protective skin of ice slowly cracked apart and fell away. He crumbled in stages after that. The formations holding him together disintegrated in a series of glacial cracks - he collapsed, his body unable to keep him upright, and the white spark of transformation finally caught. Broken limbs and displaced joints were forced back into position as he was wrenched mercilessly from the edge of annihilation, and for a long moment he was too stunned to move. 

_Breathe._

He forced himself to inhale, went into a coughing fit, and scrambled up. His mind caught up with him the second he went into motion - _you killed a man_ \- and he stumbled to his feet. Everything around him was a wreck; the house had been all but destroyed, and droplets of still-frozen blood and ectoplasm littered the stones in all directions. The corner of the destroyed painting sat, half-submerged, in boiling pools of liquid that had collected in the crevices between stones and debris. An unearthly mist clouded the remains of the house, and it was almost too cold to breathe. His fingers went immediately numb; an uncontrollable shiver wracked him. 

In the midst of the carnage was Vlad, pinned down by a spike of ice but still writhing. Both of his legs had been crushed and beaten into the stones, and he'd only barely escaped being completely eviscerated; despite it, he had minutes at most. He coughed up a delicate spatter of blood, winced, and when his eyes met with Danny's they were unbearable. 

Danny realized he'd known how this was going to end. He'd never in his afterlife caused such a catastrophic disaster, much less from the brink of death - how could he possibly have known? How could he have known, and why didn't he stop it? He hadn't merely been bent on destruction - he'd _willed_ it, with the same effortlessness as he willed flight, or intangibility, and everything around him had crumbled. Everything - even the bitter old ghost that had tried to end him. 

What did that make him, then, except a murderer? 

The dying man lay sprawled at the murderer's feet. Tears froze in the corners of his eyes; his body had already begun to go numb, but he didn't care. He crumpled to his knees, knowing what was to be said even before the old man did. "I - I'm sorry," were the only words he could force out of himself. _How do I take this back,_ he wanted to ask. _How do I take it back - how do I live with myself - what am I gonna do?_ Everything caught together in the back of his throat, and sobs wracked him. 

The old man's final gaze hardened. One mutilated hand got ahold of his wrist - _the front of his shirt; does it even matter?_ \- and tightened with the last ounces of strength he had. He forced down a final fit of coughs, but a thin line of blood slid from between his lips when they curled into a sneer of hatred. "You little shit," he spat, before his dying breath could fail him, and Danny's mind echoed the rest. 

_I should have killed you when I had the chance._

"Why - why didn't you - ?" he croaked, but he knew he wouldn't get an answer. He could feel the old man's grip loosen, tendons failing one at a time, and when he looked back Vlad's gaze was empty. The last of his pained breaths came to rest, and after that he lay still. 

The old man was dead. Danny had killed him. 

_Murderer. That's what you are._

Danny couldn't breathe. _You did this. Look at what you destroyed._ He was struck by two crushing thoughts at once: the first was what he'd already known - _it's just like everything else that's happened, and you're still one step behind;_ the second nearly broke him - _why didn't you stop this? were you really even trying? couldn't you do it?_

It was too much. He had to get away. The ruined house, and the remains of the man that had almost killed him - he had to get away from all of it. He turned, unable to stand the stillness, and stumbled up to his feet. Everything in his human body was numb, but that wasn't better. Where would he go? Where _could_ he go? Would he ever make it home? Would anything he'd done be justified, so long as he _did_ make it home? 

He knew that it wouldn't. 

So he ran, the cold moon his only witness. He ran until he was exhausted, but forced himself onward to the point of collapse. The wilderness beyond the ruined estate was damp and unforgiving, and the trees crowded him in and seemed to poke and jeer. _Murderer!_ they cried, _you're not getting away this time!_ It didn't matter where he went, or how long he was running, or who was with him. He'd never get that blood off his hands. He couldn't take it - he screamed, as if he could plead with the sky itself to reverse what he'd done. 

_How much of it can you really take back?_

When his voice gave out and he couldn't scream anymore, he just cried. How in the hell was he supposed to live with himself? He couldn't do it. He was _fourteen,_ for fuck's sake, and he'd just singlehandedly killed a man. It couldn't be taken back. None of it could. 

Finally, completely spent, Danny passed out.


	6. Knowing

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on the side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned upward, letting himself relax and stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain, and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party somewhere in town. He tilted his head to listen for a moment; it sounded familiar, but he found he couldn't put a name to it. He supposed it didn't matter. The wind shifted again, and the distant bass faded. He dismissed it from his mind, stretching out his shoulder again and turning to the darkened streets below. _What's the hurry - you've still got half an hour, and the air's so stale down there anyway._ He drifted down to the molded plastic roof of the structure, sprawling out along its spine, and folded his hands behind his head. He winced - _did I land on that side funny?_ \- and gave up, letting his arms hang over the sides as he stared up at the stars. 

He didn't realize how stressed he'd been until it all began to fall away. Stargazing did that to him, he found; it could erase a bad day in minutes, especially when the moon was just a sliver in the sky. Even without the astronomy book he'd gotten for his birthday, or a red flashlight with which to read it in the dark, he could always spot a dozen constellations off-hand. He pointed them out to himself one at a time, in order, from one end of the sky to the other. 

He wished Sam and Tucker were there with him. He missed them - _that's stupid, didn't you just see them at school?_ \- and he wanted to talk to them. Was that why he'd been so stressed? _No, that's dumb._ He'd hung out with them on the way home - literally that afternoon. Why did it feel like it was longer than that? _Jesus, you gonna make it until movie night tomorrow? Chill for a sec, will you?_ Maybe it was just because he'd hoped they would have come, and instead they'd both bailed at the last minute. _Haven't they been bailing out all week? Was it something I said?_

He thought he should probably head home. He didn't want to miss curfew again, and he knew his patrols over the weekend would suffer if he were grounded. He was glad that his parents and sister were out - he'd almost been dragged along, but had convinced his father that his homework had been piling up, and of _course_ he wasn't going to sneak out to a party or to Sam's to watch movies on the bigass TV in her basement. Well, all of that was technically true. He hadn't gone out to Sam's, and he _did_ have a mountain of homework waiting for him at home. _Ugh, don't think about it. Maybe it'll go away on its own._ A guy could hope, right? 

With a sigh, he flew lower through the streets so that he wouldn't see any last-minute troublemakers before he got home. He'd been finding a lot of those lately, he remembered - he'd traced one, either last night or the night before that, to an empty shop just a block or two over. That, he reasoned, was probably why he was one missed curfew away from being grounded, and he just knew those little pests were doing it on purpose. 

Four blocks from his house, he paused. _Oh, god-fucking-dammit, not again. Didn't we just do this yesterday?_ He hadn't been breathing, but the sensation was all too familiar - he exhaled quickly to keep from giving himself a brainfreeze, ignoring the thin line of mist he exuded. _Happens every time. I swear to god it had better not be that empty shop again,_ he grumbled to himself, his mood soured by the grounding he'd get if he was out too late. He debated briefly on whether he should just ignore this and call it a night. Wouldn't that be easier? He wouldn't be grounded then, and he could still catch movie night with Sam and Tuck tomorrow. 

Then again, this was supposed to be his job, or something like that. 

He slunk again through the streets, paying careful attention to the shadows and listening for things that might be scuttling about in those shadows, and without thinking much about it he honed in on the abandoned building two blocks over. _Yeah, I called that one._ The ghostly voice in him was his guide in matters like these; it only spoke up when he transformed, and as often as not it would jeer and poke fun - _still using those old legs?_ \- but it provided the intuition he needed to weed out the unquiet dead, and it was only the times like these when he wouldn't do his best to tune it out. 

He drifted on a breeze up to the side of the empty shop, catching the echo of two somethings sliding together from somewhere inside; that confirmed it. _This had better be quick._ He reached down without looking and unclipped the thermos from his belt - _skittered out of his hand and into some corner_ \- and he paused. Where had that come from? It had only sparked through his mind for an instant, and yet the image was clear. Had he had a fight here before? Recently? He glanced up at the storefront facade. The sign was long gone, but he knew, even before he drifted inside, what it had been. He hardly had to glance around the interior - _shelves on that side, chairs, tables. . ._ He wondered how long the place had been closed down. Had he ever visited it when he was little? Was that why it struck him like it did? 

No, that was wrong too. He just _knew._ It occurred to him, after another moment, that he'd known the entire time. _It had better not be that empty shop again._ Again? How many times had he been here? Little was disturbed; if he'd ever had a fight here, it couldn't have been recently. Could it? He stood in the empty space, thermos in hand but suddenly unsure. _I know I've been here - why can't I remember when?_

His eyes settled on the door to the rear, propped open by a forgotten cardboard box. A fog of unease had been growing steadily in tandem with the familiarity, and when he spotted the open door it solidified into a knot of dread. Why? That much was beyond him. _Something's not right_ was the closest he could articulate, but it was more than that and he knew it. He found himself hesitating, even, to investigate. _How else are you supposed to figure things out if you don't?_ Something pulled at him. _Go home, then,_ it said, but he ignored it. _That's stupid. Whatever's going on - I'm gonna figure it out._ He floated forward, unseen, and kept his eyes on the doorway to the back area. Something just out of sight on the other side glowed faintly; he could sense the spirit - _I know you're in there_ \- and without making a sound he crept closer and peered through the open doorframe. 

The little glowing thing had been left on one of the steel work-tables, and fuckor pierced him as his mind and body fell a second out of time. His mind, of course, went first: something hit him but he didn't know what - 

_So let's find out._ He whirled around an instant before he was attacked, his reactions finally a half-step ahead. Something was coming at him, and he grabbed it before it could hit him. He threw it down against the hard tiles, and only then was able to get a look at it; glowing a soft ectoplasmic green, it scrabbled on spindly legs to regain its balance and then turned to face him again. It saw him, took a second to register that he was watching it back, and froze up. 

Danny frowned, and picked the little robot up. "Now what in the hell are you supposed to be - ?" 

He wasn't fast enough to react a second time. He was hit from behind, ensnared, and hopelessly tangled up in seconds; toppling, he did his best to pull himself free, but it was no use. He twisted around, hoping at least to get one of his hands loose - 

He only caught a flicker of the shadow behind him before he was struck with a solid blow to the head and fell out of consciousness. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and he'd been hunting down a ghost - he remembered the empty shop, too, and the little blinking thing sitting on the table. He'd been in a fight, hadn't he? 

Not quite, he remembered. It hadn't been a fight so much as a trap - and he'd fallen right into it. _Oh, shit. Oh, fuck, that's definitely worse._ His hands, he found, had been tied together behind his back, and a length of heavy chain - _let's see with little ghosts are made of, shall we?_ \- linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the bricks over his head. He pushed himself up into an awkward sitting position, twisting his wrists once or twice as if the straps binding them might fall away - _oh, they will, and just in time_ \- and, failing that, he meant to fade through them to render them useless. He was still a ghost, after all. 

_And isn't it getting old?_ He swatted at the voice in him out of habit, but it persisted. It took him a moment to realize why: he _was_ still a ghost, and only once he sat and thought about it did he realize that it hadn't surprised him like it should have. Had he already known that? Was it the same as whatever happened in the empty shop? 

Could he do it again? 

He slid himself up against the bricks and took a deep breath. The air was so stale down here - why hadn't he quit earlier, while he was ahead? _Focus,_ he told himself, as if it would help. If he could make whatever happened in the shop happen again, maybe he'd find a faster way out of here. _Come on, try and remember how you did that._ He concentrated, hoping to glean something - anything at all? - but the only feeling he got was a knot of dread that twisted itself up in his stomach. 

_You're not getting out of here! Not this time!_

That made him pause. He'd done it - on purpose this time, he hoped - but something was wrong. Whatever had just sparked in his mind had been in his own voice, and the fury carried with it made him recoil as if struck. _What in the hell was that?_ Couldn't he find something more? _Come on, you can do it on purpose now, whatever it is, you'll have more time to figure out why when you get the hell out of here._ He took another deep breath, and tried again. This time, nothing came to him. _Shit._

The steel door in the corner slid open and Danny froze. The sudden light from the open frame made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He felt small all of a sudden, but refused to acknowledge it concretely; at the very least, he wouldn't let on and allow the old ghost any satisfaction. He steeled himself. _Here we go._

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little ghost before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake - you're just in time for tea, you know. How thoughtful of you to drop in." 

"Plasmius," Danny growled. The second the door opened, he found, everything shifted. It was like an old movie he'd seen a hundred times but not since he was little; he could _almost_ tell what was going to happen, but it was one infuriating beat out of his grasp. "Should have known it was you." He realized, the moment he said it, how stale the words tasted. Was that a good thing or not? Why had everything become so familiar? 

Vlad remained stiff. "Yes, I suppose you should have," he said flatly, "Now tell me something, Daniel. I'd like the honest truth, if you're even capable of providing such a thing." 

"Bullshit - " Danny argued, catching himself even though he was certain it was too late. 

Vlad cut the little ghost off with a swift kick to the stomach. He watched Danny buckle, the bored facade returning despite the fact that he quite enjoyed it, and sighed. "I suppose I'm the one that should have known better, really. Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you. You'd never tell me anything no matter how nicely I asked, would you?" 

Danny regained himself. _Dammit, you knew he was going to do that._ He forced in a breath, just to make sure none of his ribs had broken - _now, what might that be?_ \- and glowered up again at his captor. "You call this asking nice?" He spat the words just to be recalcitrant, nevermind that they fell flat in his mind. He wondered if Vlad could tell, too. Did he have the same feeling that Danny did? 

If he did, he made no mention of it. He leaned abruptly forward, hands clasped behind his back, and scowled. He was unblinking; his voice fell to almost a whisper. "Why, yes, I think so. Wouldn't you like to see me when I'm not nice? I'm not playing games today, dear boy - if you can't hold that unruly tongue of yours I may just cut it out." 

"You wouldn't," Danny snapped, with less certainty than he'd meant. _Would he really. . .?_ A spike of fuckor struck him. _Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you. How many do you think you'll keep?_ His mind began to race. Was that what was going to happen? Wasn't he going to get out of here? Didn't he always? _You're not getting away - not this time._ His fingers grasped at the straps around his wrists; with any luck, his ghost powers would come back soon - they always did, when he needed them to. Didn't they? _Of course they will - and just in time._ In time for what - Danny didn't know, and he had a feeling he didn't want to. 

Vlad straightened again. He allowed himself only a brief moment of smugness - _oh, won't you look at that, he thinks he'll break free!_ \- before giving Danny a slow shake of the head. "Try if you like, but you're not getting away - not this time. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. Even the merest shred of decency is asking too much of you, isn't it? To be able to hold a conversation - why, that would be just preposterous. I'm beginning to think - " 

"You think I'm not worth it," said Danny, before he knew why. His mind had finished scrambling to catch up, and had skipped only a second ahead. That was all he got, but it was enough. He turned up to Vlad again, wide-eyed, not exactly _scared_ yet but unable to explain an ounce of what was happening. "That's - that what you were going to say, wasn't it - ?" 

Vlad lost his patience all at once - _that impudent brat!_ \- and delivered a second kick that clipped Danny in the ear and sent him reeling. His hands crackled as he formed a pair of energy blasts; he held them just long enough for Danny to get his bearings again, and released them both at once. 

Danny's head spun. Panic struck him, if only for a moment; he scrambled, not caring where, but the next thing he knew he'd been grabbed by the collar of his suit and hauled off his feet. Something cold had begun to run down the side of his neck - _am I bleeding?_ \- and he cut through the static of pain that clamored across the side of his head. 

Vlad snarled, giving the little ghost in his grip a shake. "Oh, you've got it, have you? You think you're being funny? Tell me, boy, do you still think you're getting out of here in one piece? Oh, now, hold on, let me guess - you've got it all figured out already since you're so smart." 

Danny paled. He couldn't stand the dreadful haunt bearing down on him like that; it was all he could do to keep from trembling, and despite his best efforts he couldn't meet Vlad's eyes. He hated every second of it, but what could he do, stripped of his abilities and against a ghost twice his size? _Don't you just want to get even?_

Vlad, too, was silent. _Oh, he's run out of banter already? What a relief._ There had been times when he'd lived for the back-and-forth, and times when he'd been able to stomach it; this time around, his patience had worn thin before he'd even caught the boy. _And now he wants nothing more than to be a pest._ He supposed, then, that he'd be taking the remainder of his satisfaction for the evening by force. At least, that was how he'd imagined it. He had plenty of time to kill - he'd devoted the entire weekend to it, in fact. His hands lit up again, electrocuting the little spirit in his grip. 

Danny froze up, unable to think or to twist himself away. Everything in him wrenched at once. In his mind he was screaming but he couldn't make a sound, much less break free. Only when Vlad dropped him did he regain any function whatsoever; before coherent thought, he scrambled away and slid up into the corner. He realized that his skin had begun to smoke. 

Dead or not, he wasn't meant to take that kind of abuse. He changed - or, at least, he meant to. He could feel the spark doing its best to catch; it tried once, twice, and then quit. He'd known he couldn't transform - _not until all is said and done._ "You did this to me. . ." 

A thin and joyless smile spread across Vlad's face. He regarded Danny - head hung, knowing exactly how far in over his head he'd gotten. "Right again, my boy. I'm so glad that little contraption seems to be working properly - I've never tested it before, you know. It isn't a thing that can be used on just any old ghost out there, only those caught in the between like us. Now, I couldn't _possibly_ be expected to try it out on myself, now, could I? Why, that might have been dangerous! How fortunate for me that you just-so-happened to step in! Now I know for sure - it will keep you from crawling back to life the moment your ghostly form is hurt, and we can find out _exactly_ where the limits of existence lie." 

Something in Danny twisted. It was the realization that, no, he _wasn't_ going to escape. _Not this time around._ That feeling was back - he'd thought that would be better, that certainty would have guided him, but he realized too late that he'd followed it to his demise. Perhaps he'd parse the ending from tiny glimpses ahead - but it wouldn't be the ending he wanted. _He's really going to kill me, isn't he?_ Panic leapt up into his throat - _please, it can't be too late_ \- and he stared up at Vlad again in growing desperation. "You're out of your mind, you can't - ! Stop it, get away from me!" 

"Oh, it's far too late for that now!" Vlad crowed, advancing again, "I'll get my pound of flesh from you yet - I told you I wasn't playing games, boy, and I meant exactly that!" 

"I said _get away from me!"_ Danny struck out before he could think, planting both feet just under Vlad's ribs if only to put some space between them. _He'll get you for that one - you know he will, watch out_ \- panic was fraying him; he tried again to wrench his hands free - _just one, even? fuck's sake!_ \- but with no luck. 

He saw Vlad coming at him only a split second before he was hit, and he couldn't twist away. The best he could do was to brace himself - the sharp spear of solidified energy struck right through him, and despite himself he buckled anyway. The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; something in him sputtered and then gave out. The spear fizzled away a moment later but the damage was done - a bright splatter of luminescent green, hundreds of stinging electric needles, and the burning refusal to quit. He spat a mouthful of ectoplasm from between grit teeth - _goddammit, I'm not gonna die like this_ \- and forced himself to meet Vlad's eyes again. "Don't do this - you sonofabitch - " 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" said Vlad, knowing exactly how much of a threat Danny posed at the moment. He was relatively certain the boy wouldn't bleed out, although he did take note of the little white sparks that tried once more to trigger his transformation back to human. He began to suspect he'd be seeing a lot of those. One hand rested on the chain attached to the hook bolted into the bricks, and just for a second he gave Danny a pleasant smile. "Let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?" 

"No, _don't - !"_ Danny knew it all - _you won't make it out of here, not this time around_ \- but it was too late. Panic took over him, and he was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else; his mind had tried to shut the pain out hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Whatever could be done to him was done. Four of his teeth had been pulled out; he was electrocuted nearly to a husk, not once but twice; one of his hands had been stripped to the bone with meticulous precision; the skin flayed away up to the shoulder joint, baring ethereal flesh; branded by red-hot instruments of all sorts; speared, pried apart, and held open for further experimentation; slit at the throat to see how much plasma he could stand to lose; crushed past anything any living being was meant to withstand; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; skull bashed against the bricks to the point of caving in; partially eviscerated; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn back together afterwards only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and begging for his afterlife. 

Vlad just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - I simply can't wait to go through the readings on this one - oh, haven't I broken that before? in that fight, why, yes, I think I have, looks awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. He knew a great deal about human anatomy, of course, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost. Was that his heart? Did he still need one of those, or was it just leftovers? "My," he murmured, intrigued, "Now, what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind one way or the other. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm. His mind had fallen into delirium hours ago, unable to keep up with the torturous ghost's whims. He was almost beyond coherent thought - _almost,_ until he was wrenched all at once back into visceral clarity. _Now, what might that be?_ "No, don't - " he croaked, wishing he still had it in him to scream. He knew, in an instant, what would become of them both the second Vlad pushed him too far. He'd become a monstrosity; the old man's transgressions would be wiped away with his own lifeblood. 

"No?" Vlad echoed, his attention already falling back to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. Irradiated green stained everything in the wound, and had soaked through the fibers of the boy's suit and pooled below him, but whatever was glowing was hidden deeper within him. The thought occurred to Vlad at once: _is that his core? Yes, that must be it, mustn't it?_ Things had suddenly become interesting again, and he pried two of Danny's ribs apart so he could reach in with his other hand. 

_"Please, I - "_

The second Vlad's fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into light and forced him back. It took him only a moment to understand what was happening - a core in desperation could lash out with the last of its energy, according to what he'd read. Was this it? Could Danny be reeled back in afterwards, once he was spent? Had Vlad pushed him over the edge? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made, it was too late. 

Danny knew it was too late, too. Everything in him went numb at the same instant that his core wrenched control out of his hands, and the only thing left that he could feel was the arctic chaos building up in him. Frostbitten rage engulfed him as his core flash-froze his body. He screamed anew, scrabbling for any ounce of control but spiraling instead into a frenzy. His core dragged everything around him down into frozen destruction to keep itself fueled; shards of damnation erupted over him, protecting what was left of his body but condemning the last shreds of consciousness in his mind. Those, too, were swallowed up by his core's relentless fury. It drummed in his ears like a heartbeat - _crush! kill! blood! vengeance!_ \- and in a matter of moments he'd laid the bowels of the torturous ghost's home to waste. 

Only when he shot up to the higher levels of the house did his core even falter; he only regained a spark of coherence but it wasn't enough. He took off again, the burning frostbite skewing his will as he sought out the ghost that had thrown him over the edge. _Wonder if he'll beg?_ He slammed up against the heavy double doors once, using his flayed limb as nothing more than an instrument of blunt force. A second attack forced them off their hinges. 

The doors exploded inwards, along with the stonework that had held them and enormous shards of broken ice; Danny landed on the fine carpet, useless legs hanging under him. His core pulled like strings at the ice over his limbs and across his face. His body had become little more than a formality - _protected! heal later!_ \- and frost had become his instrument of destruction. Shards of new teeth burst from his mouth in the stead of the ones that had been torn out - _everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you_ \- and the last of his conscious mind succumbed to the raging bloodlust that screeched in his ears.

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. He was in almost full panic; he'd become increasingly frantic when the upper levels of the house had begun to heave, but he hadn't had the nerve to go down and see the boy's final throes for himself. _Throes be damned,_ said the cold little voice in him, _look at how much he's destroyed already._ He took a step back, weighing his odds against the monstrosity before him. The cold had struck him the second the doors had been smashed off their hinges, and he knew that it would be unbearable if he stayed. _You've done this to yourself, you know. Is this really what you wanted?_ He admitted, with great reluctance, that it wasn't. _He's too far gone, can't you tell? He can't see anything except his hate for you. Can you really bring him down from this?_ "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the curdled terror that twisted itself up in his chest, "Daniel, don't you think - maybe you'd best calm down, and - couldn't we work this out - ?" 

_"Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, slamming an icy fist into the side of the bed-frame, _"Look at this! You did this to me! This is your fault! You're not getting away! Not this time!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded Vlad directly. Vengeance burned ever-colder within him, fed by his raging core; everything else had been stamped out, and he sprung into action. He pounced once at the cowardly old ghost, barreling through the wardrobe without a care. Undeterred, he shook off the splinters and lunged again. 

Vlad had begun to fear for his life. He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack - _can he still be called that? look at him! he's too far gone!_ \- but even being in the same room as the terror was overwhelming. _Terror?_ came the voice of his own bitter core, _you've pushed him to it! You made him into that, and you laughed through every ounce of it!_ He shoved the voice out of his head, knowing it was right, and fled through the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. _You did this you did this you did this - _

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. _Not this time! Make him pay!_ He charged, catching the corner of the dreadful spirit's cape, and they both tumbled to a halt on the stones. Something in Danny's frozen body cracked - his spine? his leg? his core brushed it off - but Vlad just sprawled, scrambling a second later back to his feet. He was yelling now but Danny didn't care; he had the old ghost right in his crosshairs, and descended upon him in an instant. _Don't you want to get even! Tear him apart!_ He bit and tore and smashed and howled for as long as his core could sustain it; sprays of ectoplasm froze midair and shattered against the broken stones, and when Vlad's ghostly form was torn to shreds the drops of lime gave way to drops of crimson. It didn't matter between one body or the other. Danny had no trouble crushing them both. 

Only when his core was exhausted was Danny able to think. He hung over what was left of the enemy, panting, his horrible weapon broken up around the edges and stained twofold. The bitter frostbite finally began to relent, leaving the buzz of pins-and-needles in its wake. The pain from his injuries returned, although not all at once, and his protective skin of ice slowly cracked apart and fell away. The rest of him crumbled in stages after that. The formations holding him together came apart in a series of glacial cracks - he collapsed, his body wholly spent, and the white spark of transformation finally caught. Broken limbs and displaced joints were forced back together as he was wrenched mercilessly from the edge of annihilation, and for a long moment he was too stunned to move. 

_Breathe._

He forced himself to inhale despite the cold, went into a coughing fit, and pushed himself up. His mind caught up with him the second he went into motion - _you killed a man_ \- and he stumbled up to his feet. Everything around him was a wreck; the house had been all but demolished, and droplets of still-frozen blood and ectoplasm littered the stones in all directions. The corner of the destroyed painting sat, half-submerged, in boiling pools of liquid that had collected in the crevices between stones and debris. An unearthly mist clouded the remains of the house, and broken pillars of framework and concrete jutted through the fog as if standing vigil over the ruins. 

In the midst of the carnage was Vlad, pinned down by a spike of ice but still writhing. Both of his legs had been mangled and beaten into the stones, and he'd only barely escaped being completely eviscerated; despite it, he had minutes at most. He coughed up a delicate spatter of blood, winced, and when his eyes met with Danny's they were unbearable. 

Danny had known how this was going to end. He'd never in his afterlife caused such a disaster, much less from the brink of death, but he'd known. _Why didn't you stop this?_ He hadn't merely been bent on destruction - he'd _willed_ it, with the same ease that he willed flight, or intangibility, and everything around him had crumbled. Everything - even the bitter old ghost had been smacked down without effort. 

What did that make him, then, except a murderer? 

The dying man lay sprawled at the murderer's feet. Tears froze in the corners of his eyes; his body had already begun to go numb, but he didn't care. He crumpled to his knees, knowing what was to be said even before the old man did. "I - I didn't mean it - " he croaked, knowing it was a lie the instant the words left him. _Of course you meant it. You let it happen. How can you lie to his face, knowing you'd do it again?_

The old man's final gaze hardened. One mutilated hand got ahold of his wrist - _the front of his shirt; does it even matter?_ \- and tightened with the last ounces of strength he had. He forced down a final fit of coughs, but a thin line of blood slid from between his lips when they curled into a sneer of hatred. "You little shit," he spat, before his dying breath could fail him, and Danny couldn't bear the rest. 

_I should have killed you when I had the chance._

"Why didn't you - ?" he whispered, unable to force out anything more, but he knew he wouldn't get an answer. He could feel the old man's grip loosen, tendons failing one at a time, and when he looked back Vlad's gaze was empty. The last of his pained breaths came to rest, and after that he was still. _Don't go, please, I can't - _

The old man was dead. Danny had killed him. 

_Murderer. That's what you are._

Danny couldn't breathe. _You did this. Look at what you destroyed. Take a good long goddamned look. Familiar, isn't it?_ He was struck by crushing memory at once. _It's just like everything else, and you're still one step behind. Why couldn't you fix it?_

It was too much. He had to get away. The ruined house, the remains of the man that had almost killed him, and how he knew he'd do it again - _how many times?_ \- he had to get away from all of it. He turned, unable to stand the stillness, and stumbled back to his feet. Everything in his human body was numb, but that wasn't better. Where would he go? Where _could_ he go? Would he ever make it home? Would anything he'd done be justified, so long as he did make it home? 

He knew that it wouldn't. 

So he ran, the cold moon his only witness. He ran until he was exhausted, but forced himself onward to the point of collapse. The wilderness beyond the ruined estate was damp and unforgiving, and the trees crowded him in and seemed to poke and jeer. _Monster!_ they cried, _you're not getting away this time!_ It didn't matter where he went, or how long he was running, or who was with him. He'd never get that blood off his hands. How was he supposed to face anyone after this? Could he ever look his own mother in the eye again? He couldn't take it - he screamed, as if he could plead with the sky itself to reverse what he'd done. 

_How much of it will you really take back?_

When his voice gave out and he couldn't scream anymore, he just cried. How in the hell was he supposed to live with himself? He couldn't do it. He was _fourteen,_ for fuck's sake, and he'd just singlehandedly killed a man. It couldn't be taken back. 

Could it? 

Finally, completely spent, Danny passed out.


	7. Certainty

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on the side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned upwards, letting himself relax and stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain - _better than how stale it is down there_ \- and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party somewhere in town. He tilted his head to listen for a moment; it sounded familiar, but he found he couldn't put a name to it. He supposed it didn't matter. It was the closest he had to a heartbeat, and he'd take what he could get. Sure enough, the wind shifted again and the distant bass was gone. He held it in his mind anyway as a little reminder to himself. A reminder of what? He didn't know. He stretched out his shoulders again - did he land on one funny? was that why it was giving him trouble? He frowned. He hadn't been this sore in a while, either, now that he thought about it. Something in him complained if he twisted certain way - had he bruised a rib when he wasn't paying attention? - and he floated down onto the roof of the play structure to see if he could parse why. 

He couldn't, and after puzzling over it for a minute he decided it wasn't important. It wasn't any worse than after a major fight. He'd be fine. He stared up at the stars, letting his stress fall away as his eyes traced over constellations one at a time. Even without the astronomy book he'd gotten for his birthday, or a red flashlight with which to read it in the dark, he knew portions of the night sky almost by heart depending on the season. He'd pointed out the entire zodiac to Sam and Tuck between all the times they'd sat up on the roof together, and they never seemed to get tired of it. That was good. Danny never got tired of it either. 

He wished they were here with him. He missed them - _that's stupid, didn't you just see them at school?_ \- and he wanted to talk to them. Was that why he'd been so stressed? _No, that's dumb._ He dismissed it without hesitation. He'd hung out with them on the way home - literally that afternoon. Why did it feel like it had been longer than that? Why was he so lonely all of a sudden? _Jesus, you gonna make it until movie night tomorrow? Chill for a sec, will you?_ Maybe it was just because he'd hoped they would have come, and they'd both bailed on him at the last minute. _Haven't they been doing that all week? Are they doing it on purpose? Was it something I said?_

He thought he should probably head home. He didn't want to miss curfew again, and he knew that his patrols over the weekend would suffer if he were grounded. Besides, he still had time for a last-minute fight, and he might even get home before his parents and sister. He'd have a hefty bit of explaining to do otherwise. As it was, he had a mountain of homework waiting for him, and he did his best not to think too much about it. _Maybe it'll go away on its own._ A guy could hope, right? 

With a sigh, he flew lower through the streets; four blocks from his house, he paused. He hadn't been breathing, but the sensation was all too familiar - he exhaled quickly to keep from giving himself a brainfreeze, ignoring the thin line of mist he exuded. _I swear to god if it's that damn coffee shop again,_ he grumbled, making his way without thinking across the vacant road and down the block. Only once he hovered at the storefront did it strike him - hadn't he thought it would be here? _Of course it's here,_ said the sarcastic little voice in him, _you knew that._ He admitted, with some reluctance, that he had. _How did I know that?_ Ghostly intuition could only get him so far. He could track an unruly spirit to a place like this - he'd done that countless times - but he found himself staring up at the facade of the shop with an unwavering certainty, and he couldn't explain it. He knew what he'd find, too, before he even went inside: the coffee bar in the rear, a stack of disused chairs and tables, a handful of shelves. 

He floated inside anyway, bewildered at his sudden premonition, and he found himself hoping it would be wrong. That would make it nothing more than a coincidence, and he could dismiss it. Did he even want to dismiss it? His eyes wandered the interior of the shop, familiarity crawling through his mind like he was witnessing a dream he thought he'd forgotten, and he paused in the empty space. _Something's about to happen, right?_ He unclipped his thermos from his belt and kept on the alert; he was on a ghost hunt, after all, and he'd hate to be caught with his guard down on the last fight of a slow Friday. 

Still, his mind was buzzing. _There's something in the back room, isn't there? On the table, just to the left._ He ignored the twist of dread in his stomach and crept further through the abandoned shop. If he was right, it meant - it meant what, exactly? What was he hoping to find? He knew what was back there - some blinking thing, and perhaps a little mechanical droid - but he found himself _wanting_ to be wrong. Why? What would happen he was so afraid of? 

The little blinking thing sat exactly where he knew it would. _Now you've done it,_ the ghastly voice prodded, _too late for you._ He realized, in a flash of recollection, what would happen, but whirled around too late; he was attacked and knocked out of the air, and he landed awkwardly on the hard tiles and twisted himself around to fight. Both his hands lit up in an instant, and he fired two wild shots of ectoplasmic energy before he could take aim. He got lucky - the spindly thing that had leapt at him was blown to bits, and scraps of metal and circuitry were strewn across the floor. He took a moment to process that he'd hit it, and only a fraction of a second before he was attacked again did he realize: _wait, aren't there supposed to be two of them?_

He was blindsided by another attack, ensnared, and hopelessly tangled up in seconds. He toppled, doing his best to pull himself free, but it was no use. He twisted around, hoping at least to get one of his hands loose - 

He only caught a flicker of the shadow behind him before he was struck with a solid blow to the head and fell out of consciousness. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and he'd been hunting down a ghost - _no, you idiot, it had been a trap, remember?_ \- and he'd fallen right into it. 

_Oh, shit. Oh, fuck, this isn't good._ His hands had been tied together behind his back, and a length of heavy chain - _let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?_ \- linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the bricks over his head. He pushed himself up into an awkward sitting position, the last of the headache dissipating. _You fell right into it. What the hell were you doing?_ He'd known exactly what had been waiting for him in the back of that empty shop - why hadn't he turned and gone home, then? What had he been out to prove, all of a sudden? So what if he was right? Was it worth it? 

He had a feeling it wouldn't be. That wasn't right, he realized, he _knew_ it wouldn't be. _Goddammit, now you gotta get yourself out of here too._ He gave his wrists a practiced twist, as if the straps binding them might simply fall away; failing that, he meant to fade through them and render them useless. He couldn't, of course - nevermind that he was a ghost, and had been one the whole time. Half-heartedly, he gave his transformation an attempt. He was only able to conjure a few sparks instead of his usual white flash, and he realized he'd already known about that, too. _That's never happened to me before - how the hell do I know all this?_ It was the same unshakable feeling that he'd gotten in the shop. He was able to keep up, but not quite to get ahead - couldn't he get ahead, if he tried? If he did, would it even help? How much could he take back then? 

He backed himself up against the bricks and took a deep breath. The air was so stale down here - why hadn't he quit earlier, while he was ahead? _Focus,_ he told himself, as if it would help. _Suppose you can do it, whatever it was, so what?_ Would that mean it was a new ghost power? Premonition? His intuition was always keener when he transformed; was this a projection of that ability, or an entirely new one? He wouldn't know until he could get a better grasp on it, anyhow. He concentrated, hoping for something - anything at all? - but the only feeling he got was a knot of dread that twisted itself up in his stomach. 

_You're not getting away! Not this time!_ He was punched with an instant of his own terror that made him recoil as if he'd been physically struck. He hadn't been ready for it - _what in the hell was that?_ Ringing through his mind was an echo of his own voice, shrieking and wounded, that made something in him grow cold. Was that another premonition? Could he really tell the future? If he could - what in the hell was going to happen to make him like that? He knew he didn't want to find out. 

He had a feeling he was going to find out anyway. 

He tried his best not to panic. _That's not gonna help you out any and you know it. Keep it together - maybe you can find out what's gonna happen, and maybe you can change it. Come on, see if you can do it again. The more you know, the better._ He took another deep breath, aiming to spark something as clear as what he'd gotten in the shop. _The blinking decoy, and the little robot staring up at you - _

The steel door in the corner slid open, and Danny froze. The sudden light from the open frame made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He'd already known that; he knew, too, at least some of what was to be said. Certainty eased the knot of dread in his gut, if only a little. Perhaps, with luck, he'd be able to see further ahead that way. He steeled himself. _Here we go._

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little ghost before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake - you're just in time for tea, you know. How thoughtful of you to drop in." 

"Plasmius," Danny growled, because he knew he had to. Things had come back into infuriating familiarity, he found, and this time he was one step ahead. "Should have known it was you." The words were stale on his tongue but he spat them out anyway, inching another half-second further ahead of the old man. He was glad he didn't have a heartbeat - it'd be racing if he did. _You have to stay ahead of him. Whatever happens, you have to know._

Vlad remained stiff. "Yes, I suppose you should have," he said flatly, "Now tell me something, Daniel. I'd like the honest truth, if you're even capable of providing such a thing." 

Danny opened his mouth to argue out of habit - _like hell I'm not going to give him as much shit as I can_ \- but, still a half-step ahead, he caught himself at the last second. He felt it anyway, of course: a swift kick in the stomach, and he winced even though he hadn't actually been hit. He refused to meet Vlad's eyes, still working over his newfound ability in his mind. _Great, now I have to figure that out on top of getting my ass out of here. One thing at a time, maybe? Work with me here!_ Something told him he wouldn't have that luxury. "What do you want." 

"My, right to the point, aren't we," Vlad, although he'd never say so, was grateful. _No banter tonight? What a relief._ There had been times when he'd lived for the back-and-forth, and other times when he'd been able to stomach it. Those times were gone; tonight, his patience had worn thin before he'd even caught the boy. _At the very least,_ Vlad mused, _he seems to know how far in over his head he's gotten._ "What I _want,_ and what I've wanted for some time now, has been to get rid of a pest like you for good. At first, of course, I was hesitant. You have _potential,_ Daniel - even an extraordinarily powerful ghost such as myself can see that. It was both blinding and tantalizing - can you even imagine what we could accomplish together, instead of at each other's throats?" 

Danny lost the few crucial seconds of premonition he'd had; panic tightened the knot in his gut, and forced its way slowly up into his throat. _You have to stay ahead - that's the only way you're getting out of here, isn't it? - come on, focus! please!_ Despite his best efforts, it had slipped away, and his fingers grasped with increasing desperation at the straps around his wrists. He'd get out of here, wouldn't he? Didn't he always? He couldn't allow himself to think that he wouldn't. 

Vlad paused, letting out his breath all at once. He'd refused, at first, to believe that he'd be easier off putting the boy out of his misery. Certainly, he could find a way to bring the stubborn little ghost around? It had taken him far too long to admit that, perhaps, he couldn't. He turned, betraying nothing of his hesitation, and spoke over his shoulder. "But you're obstinate, my boy, and I've begun to think you're simply not worth it. Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you." 

_You'd never tell me anything no matter how nicely I asked, would you?_ The words came first in Danny's mind - they would be a mere echo when spoken. He waited for them for a second, and then two. The silence was crushing. _I suppose I'm the one that should have known better, really. Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you. You'd never tell me anything no matter now nicely I asked, would you?_

He realized all at once that he'd been wrong. In the shop, he'd been lucky - no, he'd _thought_ he'd been lucky, and he'd thought he could figure it out, and he'd thought knowing would have been better. He thought he could see an inch ahead, and that in one precious moment he could make a crucial twist and escape. All of that was thrown out in an instant. _The little robot staring up at you - but didn't you blow it to bits? This isn't premonition. You're not seeing ahead - you're just going in circles._

_All of this has happened before._

A spike of terror pierced him. Everything that had struck him like a dream, and flashes of unknowable horrors that he had thought (hoped?) were merely forewarnings - all of it had happened to him before, and would happen again. The certainty that he'd clung to had been working avidly against him, and he'd only realized it too late; couldn't he salvage himself? Wasn't there still time? He knew he'd be killed otherwise. _That's how this ends. He's gonna kill me - and then it's just going to start over._ He pulled, more desperately this time, at his wrists. If he couldn't break free - _just one practiced twist_ \- he'd never make it. 

Vlad turned back to the little ghost at his feet. He allowed himself only a brief moment of smugness - _oh, won't you look at that, he thinks he'll break free!_ \- before giving Danny a slow shake of the head. "Try if you like, but you're not getting away - not this time. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. You've driven me to this, you know - aren't you pleased with yourself?" 

"Bullshit!" Danny cried, panic rising into a static screech in his ears, "You're out of your mind! You can't do this - get the fuck away from me - !" 

Vlad cut Danny off with a swift kick in the nose. There was an audible crack as it broke, echoed by the crack of his head against the bricks, and he watched the little ghost crumple. _Formalities be damned,_ demanded the ghostly voice within him, _can't we tear the brat apart just yet?_ That was why he'd set the trap, after all. 

Danny's head spun. Static buzzed in the periphery of his vision, and only when the room around him began to come into focus again did he acknowledge the trail of ectoplasm that ran from his broken nose to the corner of his mouth. _You're not getting away - not this time._ He refused, even at the mercy of the old ghost, to accept it. _You have to get out of here._ Something deep within him grew cold; he shook the last of the dizziness out of his head, knowing he couldn't afford to quit. "You sonofabitch, don't do this - " 

Vlad was upon him in an instant. He had a fistful of Danny's hair before he could even flinch, and yanked the boy upwards just to watch him scramble to get his feet under him. "Oh, it's a bit late for that now, don't you think? Tell me, boy, do you still think you're getting out of here in one piece? Do you still think you can stop me?" 

"No, I can't!" Danny cried, forced to face the mad ghost. Tears stung in the corners of his eyes, and he kicked uselessly as he was pulled up off his feet. Panic clawed at him - _I don't wanna die, not like this!_ \- and his voice was shrill. "I can't, I know, but _please - !"_ He froze up at once as he was electrocuted, unable to think or to twist himself away. Everything in him wrenched at once; in his mind he was screaming but he couldn't make a sound, much less break free. 

Dead or not, he wasn't meant to take that kind of abuse. He changed - or, at least, he meant to, and only then did the torturous ghost relent. Danny was left reeling and limp in his grip, and his mind came too-slowly back into focus. His skin had begun to smoke, he realized - hadn't he changed back? No, of course he couldn't. He knew that. He knew, too, that he'd run out of time. He wasn't going to make it out. _He's really going to kill me._

_Hurts, doesn't it?_

Danny couldn't take it. The knot of ice in him grew sharp and demanding in an instant - _you bastard, you can't quit now! kill him!_ \- and drove him to fury. He struck out before he could think, planting a foot on either side of Vlad's face. Vlad dropped him; he stumbled back, caught his footing, and lunged again without a thought. His ghost powers were useless but that didn't stop him; he threw his weight into a headbutt, catching the old man under the ribs and making him stagger back. Angry static crackled in his ears and pushed him onwards. _This is the last chance you'll get!_ The chain attached to his wrists pulled tight and held him back but he wrenched against it anyway, arms stretched awkwardly behind him in an effort to gain even another inch - _goddammit I'll really get him_ \- 

Vlad regained himself, rounding on Danny again with a vampiric snarl. "Don't you test me, boy!" His hands crackled with power, each forming a concentrated ball of ectoplasmic energy, and he sent them both into the little ghost at once. 

Danny was thrown back off his feet, smashing up against the bricks and landing roughly against the cold tiles. His mind scattered as his body lay in a daze. He regained focus too slowly; Vlad was standing over him again, one foot pressing down on his chest as if he'd be able to escape otherwise. _That's it, you blew it, you fucking idiot, he's gonna kill you_ \- 

A spear of solidified ectoplasmic energy pierced him, and he froze up. The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; something in him sputtered and gave out. He knew - he remembered - that it wouldn't kill him, but he could hardly register anything else through the pain. His eyes met with Vlad's, terrified and desperate. Speech was beyond him; the words came out only as a choked gurgle. "Please - don't do this - " 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Vlad gave the spear a twist, making Danny seize up. He could feel the boy trembling under his heel - _oh, he's pleading already? and to think I'd expected better of him_ \- and a thin joyless smile spread across his face. He stepped back from Danny, allowing the spear to dissipate, and one hand rested on the chain attached to the hook bolted into the bricks. "Now, let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?" 

"No, _don't - !"_ Danny knew it all - _how many do you think you'll keep? - I simply can't wait to go through the readings on this one - oh, haven't I broken that before?_ \- but there was nothing he could do. Terror took over him as he was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else; his mind had tried to shut the pain out hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Everything that could be done to him was done. Four of his teeth had been pulled out; he was electrocuted nearly to a husk, not once but twice; one of his hands had been stripped to the bone with meticulous precision; the skin flayed away up to the shoulder joint, baring ethereal flesh; branded by red-hot instruments of all sorts; one side of his suit lit on fire in a rage and left to burn when he dared resist one too many times; slit at the throat to see how much plasma he could stand to lose; crushed past anything any living being was meant to withstand; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; skull bashed against the bricks to the point of caving in; partially eviscerated; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn back together only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and begging for his afterlife. 

Vlad just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - now, isn't this interesting, let's dig a little deeper - oh, haven't I broken that before? in that fight, why, yes, I think I have, looks awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as he was performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. He knew a great deal about human anatomy, of course, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost. Was that his heart? More importantly - would he miss it, if it were to disappear? "My," he murmured, intrigued, "Now, what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind one way or the other. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm. His mind had fallen into delirium hours ago, unable to keep up with the torturous ghost's whims. He was almost beyond coherent thought - _almost,_ until he was wrenched all at once back into visceral clarity. _Now, what might that be?_ "Please, no - " he croaked, wishing he still had it in him to scream. He knew, in an instant, what was to become of them both the second Vlad pushed him too far. He wouldn't be killed. He'd become a monstrosity - _how much of this can you really take back?_ \- and the old man's transgressions would be wiped away with his own lifeblood. 

_I don't want to be a murderer._

"No?" Vlad echoed, his attention already falling back to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. Irradiated green stained everything in the wound, and had soaked through the fibers of the boy's suit and pooled below him, but whatever was glowing was hidden deeper within him. The thought occurred to Vlad at once: _is that his core? It's no wonder he doesn't want me near it._ Things had suddenly become interesting again, and he pried two of Danny's ribs apart so he could reach in with his other hand. 

_"Please, you have to stop this - "_

The second Vlad's fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into light and forced him back. It took him only a moment to understand what was happening - a core in desperation could lash out with the last of its energy, according to what he'd read. Was this it? Couldn't Danny be reeled back afterwards, once he was spent? Had Vlad pushed him over the edge? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made, it was too late. 

Danny knew it was too late, too. Everything in him went numb at the same instant that his core wrenched control out of his hands - _no, please, not again!_ \- and the only thing left that he could feel was the arctic chaos building up in him. Frostbitten rage overwhelmed him despite his best efforts. He screamed anew, scrabbling for any ounce of control but spiraling instead into a frenzy. His core dragged everything around him down into frozen destruction to keep itself fueled; shards of damnation erupted over his skin and held his body prisoner, condemning the last shreds of resistance in his mind. The relentless fury of his core drummed like a heartbeat in his ears - _crush! kill! blood! vengeance!_ \- and in a matter of moments he'd laid the bowels of the evil ghost's home to waste. 

Only when he shot up to the higher levels of the house did he even falter; he only regained a spark of coherence - _distant bass; an oil painting_ \- but it wasn't enough. He took off again, the burning frostbite in his core skewing his will as he sought out the ghost that had thrown him over the edge. _Should have killed you when I had the chance; now, what might that be; let's see what little ghosts are made of_ \- it all grew together like so many crystals of ice in his mind, driving him onwards. An impossible snarl twisted across his face, new teeth growing in the place of the ones he'd lost. He tore down the hall, using his flayed limb as nothing more than an instrument of blunt force against the heavy double doors at the end. 

The doors exploded inwards, along with the stonework that had held them and enormous shards of broken ice; there floated Danny, an abomination of frost and fury, blind but hunting on instinct. His useless head turned, locking onto his prey. His remaining fingers curled like a beast searching for something to tear. 

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. The cold had struck him the second the doors had been smashed off their hinges, but he hadn't expected the boy to hone in on him so soon. _You've done this to yourself, you know. Is this really what you wanted? He's too far gone, can't you tell? He can't see anything except his hate for you. You wanted to teach him that blind hate, remember?_

_Aren't you pleased with yourself?_

A lump of dread leapt into his throat, but he forced it down. "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the curdled terror that twisted itself up in his chest, "Dear boy - why don't you try and calm down - " 

_"Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, maw flashing, and slammed an icy fist into the bed-frame, destroying it in an instant. _"Look at this! You did this to me! This is your fault! You're not getting away! Not this time!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded the terrible ghost directly. Bloodlust burned ever-colder within him, fed by his core; everything else was stamped swiftly out, and he sprung into action. He pounced once, missing his prey by an inch and barreling through the wardrobe without a care. He shook off the splinters, undeterred, and lunged again. 

Vlad had begun to fear for his life. "Daniel, _please!"_ He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack - _can he still even be called that? look at him! he's too far gone!_ \- but even being in the same room as the terror was overwhelming. _Terror?_ laughed the voice of his own bitter core, _you've pushed him to it! You made him into it, and you laughed through every ounce of that!_ He shoved the voice out of his head, knowing it was right. _I can bring him down, can't I? It's not too late?_ He couldn't bear to take his chances; he fled instead through the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. 

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. _Not this time! Make him pay! Destroy him!_ He charged, catching the corner of the dreadful spirit's cape, and they both tumbled to a halt on the stones. Something in Danny's frozen body cracked - his spine? his leg? his head? his core brushed it off - but Vlad just sprawled, scrambling a second later back to his feet. He was yelling now but Danny was upon him in an instant. _Don't you want to get even! Tear him apart!_ He bit and tore and smashed and howled, spraying arcs of ectoplasm that froze midair and shattered against the stones. His mangled limb kept Vlad down; crystals grew in the shapes of crude fingers over the mutilated remains of his own, which were used just as easily to grab as to tear and slice. Vlad's ghostly form was obliterated but Danny wasn't yet done - frozen drops of ectoplasm gave way to frozen drops of blood, staining him twofold when he clawed and shrieked. It didn't matter between one body or the other. Danny had no trouble crushing them both. 

Only when his core was exhausted was Danny able to think. He hung over what was left of the enemy, panting, clouds of breath whistling from between jagged teeth of ice. His horrible weapon, broken up around the edges, twitched and grasped as if still seeking destruction. His core had finished with him and wrung him out; the only thing it left behind was an unbearable pit of loathing. 

_Don't you know what you've done?_

He was overcome in an instant with guilt. He knew exactly what he'd done; despite the darkness, he could see it all laid out before him in excruciating detail. He had blood on his hands - _murderer!_ \- and he couldn't take it back. He was nothing more than a mangled horror now, his failing body less protected by the insidious frost than consumed by it. Shards of ice clicked and snapped whenever he moved. _How much of this did you think you could take back?_ One hand came up to his mutilated face. Even to the touch, he knew it wasn't his - eyes of parasitic crystals, monstrous teeth, skin frozen like stone. _Are you even still human?_

He couldn't bear that. His fingers clawed at the edges of the crystals, heedless of pain or futility, and with increasing desperation. He tore the whole formation away at once, and transformed a second later; his entire body wrenched as limbs and joints were forced back into place. The remaining ice cracked and fell away and he was left in the midst of it all. His human body was whole, but it didn't matter. 

_Murderer. That's what you are._

He scrambled to the dying man's side, knowing it was too late to save him but desperate enough to try. The wrecked house around him was burned into his mind - _take a good long goddamned look! familiar, isn't it?_ \- and it crowded him in, as if it would judge his futile plea for redemption. He could barely breathe. He'd known how this was going to end. _Why didn't you stop this?_ Everything around him had crumbled under his torrential will, even the ghost that had tried to kill him. 

The dying man lay sprawled at the murderer's feet. Tears froze in the corners of his eyes; his body had already begun to go numb, but he didn't care. "How do I - I have to stop this - " he pleaded, knowing he couldn't. _You let this happen. You willed it - and you'll will it again._

The old man's final gaze hardened. One mutilated hand got ahold of Danny's wrist, and tightened with the last ounces of strength he had. He forced down a final fit of coughs, but a thin line of blood slid from between his lips when they curled into a sneer of hatred. "You little shit," he spat, before his dying breath could fail him, and Danny couldn't bear the rest. 

_I should have killed you when I had the chance._

Danny's breath hitched. "Don't go - please, I can't - I don't want to be a murderer. . ." The words stung when they had struck him in his mind; spoken, they were unbearable. He could feel the old man's grip loosen, tendons failing one at a time, and when he looked back Vlad's gaze was empty. 

The old man was dead. Danny had killed him. 

Danny knew it was too late - _how much of it can you really take back?_ \- and he couldn't breathe. How many times had he done this? How many times had he been beaten to the edge of annihilation, and how many times had he killed the old man that had done it? 

It was too much. He had to get away. The ruined house, the remains of the man that had almost killed him, and how he knew he'd do it again - _and again, and again_ \- he had to get away from all of it. Even as he stumbled back to his feet, it wasn't better. He'd run, of course, because he had to; with nowhere to escape to, and no one to tell him he was going to be alright, where could he go? Home? 

He knew that he couldn't. 

So he ran into the night, the cold moon his only witness. He ran until he was exhausted, but forced himself onward to the point of collapse. _You're not getting away - not this time._ He'd have that blood on his hands forever, no matter how many times he went through this hell, or how many times he tried to wipe it all away. Even the trees knew of his transgressions, whispering to each other - _murderer_ \- on the breeze. He'd never escape it, and he couldn't take any of it back. 

_Unless._

He'd have to start over. He'd start over - _how many times?_ \- and he'd have to get it right. He'd done it before, hadn't he? Wasn't that why he'd remembered what would happen? Could he do it - and could he salvage himself this time? What other option was there? _You know you'll kill him again. You've gone through this before. Even when you figured it out, you couldn't stop it._

Did he even have a choice? He couldn't live with himself otherwise - he was _fourteen,_ for fuck's sake, and he'd singlehandedly killed a man. _You know he'll hurt you again. Could you really keep putting yourself through that?_ The crushing weight in his chest burned just thinking about it. _Hours? was that how long you'd been screaming? Would you trade all that in again, just for a chance to spare the rotten man's life? He's not worth it, is he?_

_I don't want to be a murderer._

Danny couldn't take it - he sat in the cold damp wilderness and screamed, as if he could plead with the sky itself to reverse what he'd done. _Do you really think you can fix it next time?_ He didn't care what it took - _what if you can never fix this?_ \- he had to get the blood off his hands. When his voice gave out and he couldn't scream anymore, he just cried. 

Finally, completely spent, Danny passed out.


	8. In Spirographs

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on the side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned upwards, letting himself relax and stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain - _better than how stale it is down there_ \- and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party somewhere in town. He tilted his head to listen; it sounded familiar, but he couldn't put a name to it. He supposed it didn't matter. It was the closest he had to a heartbeat these days, and he'd take what he could get. Sure enough, the wind shifted again and the distant bass was gone. He held it in his mind anyway, as a little reminder to himself. A reminder of what? He didn't know. He stretched out his shoulders again - did he land on that one funny? Was that why it was giving him trouble? He frowned. He hadn't been this sore in a while, either, now that he thought about it. Something in him complained if he twisted a certain way - had he bruised a rib when he wasn't paying attention? - and he floated down to the roof of the play structure to see if he could parse why. 

He couldn't, even after puzzling over it for a minute, but he thought that, perhaps, it might be important. _Don't be so reckless, idiot._ He'd have to be more careful when he got into ghost fights - he could only push himself so far, after all, and he'd hate to sustain any serious injuries. He settled on the molded plastic shingles, splaying like a beagle along the spine of the structure, and stared up at the stars. That always helped whenever he was stressed; even without the astronomy book he'd gotten for his birthday, or a red flashlight with which to read it in the dark, he knew portions of the night sky almost by heart depending on the season. He'd pointed out the entire zodiac to Sam and Tuck between all the times they'd sat up on the roof together, and they never seemed to get tired of it. That was nice - Danny never got tired of it, either. 

A sudden pang of longing made him pause. Sam and Tucker - he missed them. It was inexplicable - _didn't you just see them at school?_ \- but undeniable. Was that why he was so stressed? He'd hung out with them on the way home - literally that same afternoon. Why did it feel like it was longer than that? Why was he so suddenly and numbingly lonely? Maybe it was just because he'd hoped they would have come, and they'd both bailed on him at the last minute. _Haven't they been doing that all week? Are they doing it on purpose? Was it something I said?_

With a sigh, he flew lower through the streets. Something in the back of his mind, all of a sudden, had grown prickly and nauseating; for the life of him, though, he couldn't tell what. _Maybe I've just had a long night. I'll go home, maybe play a couple rounds of Doomed, get some sleep, it'll be fine, right?_ The feeling just paced back and forth like an irritated cat, refusing to settle or to allow him any peace. 

He paused. The sensation was all too familiar - _ghost_ \- but along with it came a hard lump that formed in his stomach. Dread rolled in like a heavy cloud over his mind; his eyes traced the street before him, settling without hesitation on the abandoned storefront the next block down. His mouth went dry. Everything in him was suddenly tense, as if he expected a fight. _Don't you?_ He floated closer, knowing he shouldn't but unable to stop himself, and the lump in his gut turned over. _You knew it would be the coffeeshop, didn't you?_ the ghostly voice in him asked. Whenever it spoke directly to him, it was chiding; to hear it so calm - so _plain_ \- was alien. He wanted to swat it away, like he so often did when it nagged or poked fun, but he hesitated. It served, when it wasn't berating him, as ghostly intuition. What did it know? What did _he_ know, even if he hadn't realized it yet? 

Something was wrong, and it was more than he could articulate. He saw beyond the broken windows and into the empty shop - it was like peering into a dream, and he knew it would turn to a nightmare the second he stepped inside. Something compelled him to, but he remained still. He saw, in a flash, what would become of him - _thermos skittered out of his hand; hopelessly tangled up in seconds_ \- and everything in him went cold. How had he known that? He just _knew._ Could he afford to ignore a feeling like that? 

No, of course he couldn't. He took a step back, knowing whatever was waiting for him would be better undisturbed, and was up in the air again. He turned and aimed for home, and the cold lump of dread began to relent. He could see that the house was dark - his parents and sister weren't home yet, and that should have made him feel better. He hadn't missed curfew; he wouldn't be grounded; he could still meet Sam and Tucker for movie night; he didn't have to worry about anyone finding out his secret if he tried to sneak in. He'd sneak in anyway, naturally - the open window allowed him inside, and he could say he hadn't gone out at all. That would be better, wouldn't it? 

He sank to his bedroom floor, still chewing over what had happened - or what _hadn't_ happened, he realized. The more he thought about it, the more came back to him: he would have been attacked, wouldn't he? Trying to find out for sure was like remembering a dream. The harder he tried to pin down the details - any details at all, for that matter - the more everything else slipped through his fingers. _But doesn't it matter? You got away from all of that, didn't you?_ He supposed that should have made him feel better, too. 

Why, then, hadn't the knot in his stomach dissipated? 

Something tumbled off the shelf by the door, startling him, but he whirled around too late; he was attacked and knocked out of the air, and he landed awkwardly on the floorboards and twisted himself around to fight. He was hit again, ensnared, and hopelessly tangled up in seconds. He was thrown into panic in an instant - _this wasn't supposed to happen!_ \- and pulled at the steel cables wrapped around him - 

He only caught a flicker of the shadow behind him before he was struck with a solid blow to the head and fell out of consciousness. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and that he'd been led to the empty shop - anything after that started to get a little hazy. Hadn't he been ambushed? _You idiot, you ran away, remember?_

_Did you really think that it would have mattered?_

He pushed himself up into an awkward sitting position, the last of the headache dissolving. _Oh, shit. Oh, shit oh fuck! This isn't good._ His hands had been tied together behind his back, and a length of heavy chain - _let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?_ \- linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the bricks over his head. He'd known exactly what would have been waiting for him in the back of that empty shop; he'd known, but it hadn't made a difference. He'd been captured anyway - _you thought it would have been that easy?_ \- and he was beginning to realize what he'd gotten himself into. He gave his wrists a practiced twist, as if the straps binding them might simply fall away. Failing that, he meant to fade through them and render them useless. _Of course I can't - bet that bastard won't let me change back, either._ Half-heartedly, he gave his transformation an attempt. He was only able to conjure a few sparks instead of his usual white flash, and he nodded to himself in an effort to stay collected. _Okay, okay, think for a sec, don't panic, don't you fucking do it! So what, you're gonna have to get your ass out of here. You can do that, right? See if you can remember anything else. That'd help, wouldn't it?_

He backed himself up against the bricks and took a deep breath. If he could spark the same kind of recollection that had hit him so hard outside the shop, maybe he'd be able to use that to his advantage. _How'd that work out for you?_ griped the ghostly voice, and he stamped it down. Nevermind that he hadn't been able to avoid this - he'd break out, just like he always did, and he'd make it home afterwards. 

Didn't he always? 

_You're not getting away! Not this time!_ He was punched with an instant of his own terror that made him recoil as if he'd been physically struck. He hadn't been ready for it - his mind rang with the echo of his own voice, shrieking and wounded, that made something in him grow cold. Was that another flash of memory? _Memory,_ as if this had happened to him before. Hadn't it? Wasn't that how he'd known? How _else_ would he have known, and why couldn't he remember everything? 

What could possibly scare him badly enough to make him shriek like that? 

He was trying his best not to panic. _Maybe you can still find a way out of here, right?_ That was what he told himself, but it didn't make him feel any better. It took him a second to figure out why: _you're still here, aren't you? If this really has happened before, don't you think you would have escaped? It isn't that easy._ He could feel his hands begin to tremble, and curled them both into fists in an effort to keep them still. Had this all really happened before? How many times? 

_How much do you really think you can take back?_

The steel door in the corner slid open and Danny froze. The sudden light from the open frame made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He'd already known that; he knew, too, most of what was to be said. _Do you think you'll make it out this time?_ He knew he had to. He didn't have a choice. He steeled himself. _Here we go._

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little ghost before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake." 

"Thought I'd stop in for tea," Danny spat, his fingers already grasping for the straps on his wrists. If he could only get loose - _come on, I can almost reach it_ \- he'd have a better chance. Wouldn't he? Nevermind that he couldn't fight, and that his ghost powers were useless. He'd come up with something. _Don't you know what'll happen if you can't?_

Vlad remained stiff. "Oh, being funny already, are we? Tell me, dear boy - do you really enjoy being so obstinate? Hm? This - this _pointless feud_ has gone on for some time now. Must you be such a pest? Don't you ever tire? Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you, and I've begun to think that you're simply not worth it." 

Danny knew he had to be careful. _You can't fuck it up this time. You have to make it out._ Despite himself, terror had begun to crawl over the lump in his stomach and solidify in his throat. He swallowed, mouth dry, knowing he had to buy himself enough time to escape. _Can you do that? Haven't you tried it before? Would you even remember it if you did?_ He forced himself to meet the dreadful spirit's eyes. _Just keep him going._ "I'm not - I'm not worth it?" 

Vlad gave him a slow shake of his head. "No, my boy, I'm afraid you're not. I was hesitant at first, of course. You have _potential,_ Daniel - even an extraordinarily powerful ghost such as myself can see that. It was both blinding and tantalizing - could you even imagine what we could accomplish together, instead of at each other's throats?" He paused, letting his breath out all at once. He'd refused, at first, to believe that he'd be easier off putting the boy out of his misery. Certainly, he could find a way to bring the stubborn little ghost around? It had taken him far too long to admit that, perhaps, he couldn't. _It's too late for any of that now, my friend. He's made up his mind long ago, just as you have made up yours. Wishing will get you nowhere._ "But I should have known better, should have realized it sooner, should have ended this long ago. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. You've driven me to this, you know - aren't you pleased with yourself? Isn't this what you've been aiming for?" 

"What?" Danny exclaimed, static beginning to crackle in his ears in lieu of a pounding heartbeat. "You stupid bastard, you think this is _my_ fault - ?" 

Vlad cut Danny off with a swift kick in the nose. There was an audible crack as it broke, echoed by the crack of his head against the bricks, and he watched the little ghost crumple. _Formalities be damned,_ demanded the ghastly voice in him that was always oh-so-eager for blood, _can't we tear the brat apart just yet?_ That was why he'd set the trap, after all. Still, something in him remained hesitant. _If only he weren't so impudent. . ._ It didn't matter, he knew. He'd tried countless times, and failed just as many, to crush Danny's will under his thumb. He'd have to settle, instead, just to crush him. _Oh, and aren't we looking forward to that?_

Danny's head spun. Darkness blurred the periphery of his vision, and only when the room around him began to come into focus again did he acknowledge the trail of ectoplasm that ran from his broken nose to the corner of his mouth. _You're not getting away - not this time._ He refused, even at the mercy of the old ghost, to accept it. _You have to get out of here, there could still be time, he hasn't cut you open yet -_

The knot of ice in his gut wrenched all at once. _Didn't you know that's how this ends? All this blood? Of course he's going to kill you._ He'd known, but flashes of visceral detail were too much for him to bear. _A handprint of blood; a horror of frost and fury._ He couldn't shove them away. How many times had he been killed? How in hell was he supposed to stop this, with his ghostly abilities useless and his hands tied behind his back? 

He knew it was already too late. No matter what he said, it wouldn't be enough. _He's gonna kill me, and it'll just start all over again._ Even now, he was bleeding; couldn't the old man just be done with him? Couldn't he, so long as Danny asked nice? _You call this asking nice?_ spit something in his memory. Had he said that once before? Did it even matter, at this point? _Yes, it matters,_ growled the little ghostly voice, _we're not fucking done yet. You have to get out of here._ Something deep within him grew cold, not with dread but with determination. _You have to get out of here._ It wasn't a question. He glowered up again at his captor. "You sonofabitch, don't do this - " 

Vlad was upon him in an instant. He had a fistful of Danny's hair before he could even flinch, and yanked the boy upwards just to watch him scramble to get his feet under him. "Oh, it's a bit late for that now, don't you think? Tell me, boy, do you still think you're getting out of here in one piece? Do you still think you can stop me?" 

"No, I can't!" Danny cried, forced to face the mad ghost. Tears stung in the corners of his eyes, and he kicked uselessly as he was pulled up off his feet. Panic clawed at him; his voice had become shrill. "I can't, I know, but _please - !"_ He froze up at once as he was electrocuted, unable to think or to twist himself away. Everything in him wrenched at once; in his mind he was screaming but he couldn't make a sound, much less break free. 

Dead or not, he wasn't meant to take that kind of abuse. He changed - or, at least, he meant to, and only then did the murderous ghost relent. Danny was left reeling and limp in his grip, and his mind came too-slowly back into focus. His skin had begun to smoke, he realized - hadn't he changed back? No, of course he hadn't. He knew that. He knew, too, that he'd run out of time. He wasn't going to make it out. _Not this time. He's really going to kill me._

_Won't he, if I ask nice?_

The knot of ice in him grew sharp and demanding in an instant. _You stupid bastard, you can't quit now!_ Even if just for a fleeting moment, he was driven to fury. He struck out before he could think, planting a foot on either side of Vlad's face. Vlad dropped him; he stumbled back, caught his footing, and lunged again. His ghost powers were useless but he wouldn't let that stop him - he threw his weight into a headbutt, catching the old man under the ribs and making him stagger back. He caught himself - _don't you know what comes next?_ \- at the last second, but he knew it was too late; he was hit, twice in succession, and slammed back up against the bricks. _Don't you fucking cry about it, you've had so much worse, any second now - _

Danny braced himself, but couldn't twist away. He was struck with a spear of solidified ectoplasmic energy, and his body froze up. The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; something in him sputtered and then gave out. He knew it wouldn't kill him - _of course it won't, just like everything else he'll do to you_ \- but he still found himself wishing it would. Couldn't he still make it, squeaked the last voice of desperation in him. He clung to it but it slipped through his fingers, disappearing into nothing, and he was left with desolation. _You're not getting out of here - not this time._ His eyes met with Vlad's, pained and terrified. Speech was beyond him; what came out was only a choked gurgle. "Please - just end this - " 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Vlad gave the spear a twist, making Danny seize up. He could feel the boy trembling under his heel - _oh, he's pleading already? and to think I'd expected better of him_ \- and a thin joyless smile spread across his face. He stepped back from Danny, allowing the spear to dissipate, and one hand rested on the chain attached to the hook bolted into the bricks. "Now, let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?" 

"No, _don't - !"_ Danny knew it all - _how many do you think you'll keep? - I simply can't wait to go through the readings on this one - oh, haven't I broken that before?_ \- but there was nothing he could do. Terror took over him as he was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else; his mind had tried to shut the pain out hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Everything that could be done to him was done. Four of his teeth had been pulled out; he was electrocuted nearly to a husk, not once but twice; one of his hands had been stripped to the bone with meticulous precision; both his kneecaps broken; branded by red-hot instruments of all sorts; one side of his suit lit on fire in a rage and left to burn when he dared resist one too many times; slit at the throat to see how much plasma he could stand to lose; crushed past anything any living being was meant to withstand; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; skull bashed against the bricks to the point of caving in; partially eviscerated; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn back together only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and begging for his afterlife. 

Vlad just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - now, isn't this interesting, let's dig a little deeper - oh, haven't I broken that one before? in that fight, why, yes, I think I have, looks awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. He knew a great deal about human anatomy, of course, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost. Was that his heart? More importantly - would he miss it, if it were to be removed? "My," he murmured, intrigued, "Now, what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind one way or the other. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm. He'd been condemned to darkness hours ago; he'd fallen into a pained delirium, unable to keep up with the torturous ghost's whims, but was thrown suddenly and without mercy back into visceral clarity. _Now, what might that be?_ He knew, in an instant, what was to become of them both the second Vlad pushed him too far. He knew that he'd been wrong about everything. This was the ending, certainly, but he wouldn't be killed. He'd become a monstrosity - _an abomination of frost and fury_ \- and the old man's transgressions would be wiped away with his own lifeblood. "Don't - don't touch it, I can't - " 

"No?" Vlad echoed, his attention already falling back to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. Irradiated green stained everything in the wound, and had soaked through the fibers of the boy's suit and pooled below him, but whatever was glowing was hidden deeper within him. The thought occurred to Vlad at once: _is that his core? It's no wonder he doesn't want me near it._ Things had suddenly become interesting again, and he pried two of Danny's ribs apart so that he could reach in with his other hand. 

_"Please, you have to stop this - "_

The second Vlad's fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into furious light and forced him back. It took him only a moment to understand what was happening - a core in desperation could lash out with the last of its energy, according to what he'd read. Was this it? Couldn't Danny be reeled back in afterwards, once he was spent? Had Vlad pushed him over the edge? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made, it was too late. 

Danny knew it was too late, too. Everything in him went numb at the same instant that his core plucked control out of his hands - _no, please, don't make me kill him, not again!_ \- and the only thing left he could feel was the arctic chaos building up in him. Frostbitten rage overwhelmed him as his core ate up everything in the room. He screamed anew, scrabbling for an ounce of control but spiraling instead into a frenzy. His skin burst into frozen parasitic blooms; his flayed hand and arm were overtaken by monstrous translucent crystals, flecked with ectoplasm; shards of damnation grew together over his bleeding eye sockets, condemning the last shreds of hesitation in his mind. It only took moments for his core and his consciousness to scream together, and fury drummed - _make him pay make him pay make him pay_ \- like a heartbeat in his ears. He lowered himself slowly, off-kilter and unable to bear weight, and laid waste to the bowels of the evil ghost's home. 

Only when he shot up to the higher levels of the house did he even falter; he only regained a spark of coherence through the fury - _distant bass, and a whiff of fresh air_ \- but it wasn't enough. He took off again, the burning frostbite in his core skewing his will as he sought out the ghost that had thrown him over the edge. _Should have killed you when I had the chance; now, what might that be; let's see what little ghosts are made of_ \- it all grew together like so many crystals of ice in his mind, driving him onwards. An impossible snarl twisted across his face, countless teeth growing in the place of the ones he'd lost. He floated down the hall, his element trailing dutifully behind him, and paused only for a moment at the heavy double doors at the end. His flayed limb was used as nothing more than an instrument of blunt force against them, and they buckled. 

The doors exploded inwards, along with the stonework that had held them and enormous shards of broken ice; there floated Danny, an abomination of frost and fury, blind but hunting on instinct. His useless head rolled, locking onto his prey. His remaining fingers curled like a beast itching for something to tear. His frozen body creaked with every movement he made, and liquid fog poured from the gaping wound in his chest. 

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. The cold struck him the second the doors were smashed off their hinges, but he hadn't expected the boy to hone in on him so soon. _What else did you expect from him?_ his nagging core snapped, _you thought he'd simply keel over? You've done this to yourself, you know. He's too far gone, can't you tell? He can't see anything except his hate for you. You wanted, once, to teach him that blind hate. Isn't this what you wanted?_

_Aren't you pleased with yourself?_

A lump of dread leapt into his throat, but he forced it down. Of _course_ it wasn't his fault, of _course_ he could still bring Danny down - he still had time, didn't he? "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the curdled terror that twisted itself up in his chest, "Dear boy - why don't you try and calm down - surely we could work this out - ?" 

_"Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, maw flashing, and slammed an icy fist into the bed-frame. _"Look at this! You did this to me! This is your fault!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded the terrible ghost directly. Bloodlust burned ever-colder within him, fed and stoked by his raging core; everything else was stamped swiftly out, and he sprung into action. He pounced once, missing his prey by an inch and barreling through the wardrobe without a care. He shook off the splinters, undeterred, and lunged again. 

Vlad had begun to fear for his life. "Daniel, _please!"_ He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack - _can he even still be called that? look at him! he's too far gone!_ \- but even being in the same room as the terror was overwhelming. _Terror?_ came the bitter laugh of his own core, _you've pushed him to it! You've made him into this, and you've laughed through every ounce of that!_ He shoved the voice out of his head, knowing it was right. _I can bring him down, can't I? It's not too late?_ He couldn't bear to take his chances; he fled instead through the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. 

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. _Not this time! Make him pay! Destroy him!_ He charged, catching the corner of the dreadful spirit's cape, and they both tumbled to a halt on the stones. Something in Danny's frozen body cracked - his spine? his leg? his head? his core didn't care - but Vlad just sprawled, scrambling a second later back up to his feet. He was yelling but Danny was upon him in an instant. _Don't you want to get even! Tear him apart! Make him sorry!_ He bit and tore and smashed and howled for as long as his core could sustain it, spraying arcs of ectoplasm that froze midair and shattered against the broken stone floor. His mangled limb kept Vlad down; crystals grew in the shapes of crude fingers over the mutilated remains of his own, which were used just as easily to grab as to slash and tear. The old haunt didn't stand a chance against Danny's rage, and his ghostly form was torn to shreds in moments. He fled back to life in desperation but Danny wasn't done - frozen drops of ectoplasm gave way to frozen drops of blood, staining him twofold when he clawed and shrieked. It didn't matter between one body or the other. He had no trouble crushing them both. 

Only when his core was exhausted was Danny able to think. He hung over what was left of the enemy, panting, clouds of breath whistling from between jagged teeth of ice. His horrible weapon, broken up around the edges, twitched and grasped as if still seeking destruction. His core had finished with him and wrung him out; the only thing it left behind was an unbearable pit of loathing. 

_Don't you know what you've done?_

He was overcome in an instant with guilt. He knew exactly what he'd done; despite the darkness, he could see it all laid out before him in excruciating detail. He had blood on his hands, and he couldn't take it back - he _hadn't_ taken it back. Sensation returned to him in the wake of his core's retreat. He was nothing more than a mangled horror, his failing body less protected by the insidious frost than consumed by it. Shards of ice clicked and snapped whenever he moved, and one hand came up to his mutilated face. _How much did you really think you could take back this time?_ Even to the touch, he knew it wasn't his - eyes of parasitic crystals, monstrous teeth, skin frozen like stone. _Are you still even human?_

He couldn't bear that. His fingers clawed at the edges of the crystals, heedless of pain or futility. Hatred clouded his mind, not for the old man but for himself - how could he exist like this? How could he exist at all? _Why didn't he just kill me?_ His body sank, exhausted, and he crumpled into a heap on the stones. His fingers hooked over the icy mass and it came away, whole, with a glacial crack. The empty sockets were bleeding again, and he transformed a second later; his entire body was jerked back into place, correcting broken limbs and joints, and he was left in the midst of the ruin. His body, now human, was whole. Inside, it didn't matter. 

_Murderer. That's what you are._

He scrambled to the dying man's side - _you can't just leave him_ \- but he knew it was too late to save him this time. _This time._ The wrecked house around him was burned into his mind; it crowded him in, as if would judge his futile plea for redemption. He'd known how this was going to end. _Why couldn't you stop this?_ He'd not only been bent on destruction, he'd _willed_ it, with as little effort as he willed flight, or intangibility. Everything around him had crumbled under his torrential fury, even the ghost that had tried to kill him. _He's still a person. Look what you've done. You're just a monster now, and you'll be a monster forever._

The dying man lay sprawled at the murderer's feet. Tears froze in the corners of his eyes; he crumpled to his knees, his body already beginning to go numb from the cold. He didn't care. "I have to stop this," he pleaded, the rest of the words tangling up in his throat before he could get them out. _I can't keep doing this. How many times has this happened? I have to go back. You have to tell me how to stop you._ He dashed one eye with the heel of his hand. A hiccuping sob wracked him. 

The old man's final gaze hardened. One mutilated hand got ahold of Danny's wrist, and tightened with the last ounces of strength he had. He forced down a final fit of coughs, but a thin line of blood slid from between his lips when they curled into a sneer of hatred. "You little shit," he spat, before his dying breath could fail him, and Danny knew the rest. 

_I should have killed you when I had the chance._

Danny's breath hitched. "Why - why didn't you - no, don't go, don't leave me, I can't - _goddammit!"_ He could feel the old man's grip loosen, tendons failing one at a time, and when he looked back Vlad's gaze was empty. 

The old man was dead. Danny had killed him. 

He knew it was too late - _you couldn't take it back, could you?_ \- and he hated it. How many times had he done this? Ten times? Fifty? How many times had he been beaten to the edge of annihilation, and how many times had he murdered the old man that had done it? Couldn't he fix it, if he just went around once more? _Just once more._ How many times had he said that too? 

He couldn't stand the dead man's stare. "You stupid bastard," he whispered, red-eyed and tear-stained. "You _idiot,_ how the hell am I supposed to stop this? I can't - I can't keep going around in circles - I don't want to be a murderer. . ." The words stung when they had struck him in his mind; spoken, they were unbearable. 

It was too much. He had to get away. The ruined house, the remains of the man that had almost killed him, and how he knew he'd do it again - _and again, and again, for as long as it takes for you to get it right_ \- he had to get away from all of it. Even as he stumbled back to his feet, it wasn't better. He'd run, of course, only because he had to; with nowhere to escape to, and no one to tell him he was going to be alright, where could he go? Home? 

How could he look his own mother in the eye after all this? 

So he ran into the night, the cold moon his only witness. He ran until he was exhausted, but forced himself onward to the point of collapse. _You're not getting away - not this time._ Had the old man even said that? Was it just an echo from something else, long-buried under Danny's own failure? He'd have that blood on his hands forever, no matter how many times he went through this hell, or how many times he tried to wipe it all away. Even the trees knew of his transgressions, whispering to each other - _monster_ \- on the breeze. He'd never escape it, and he couldn't take any of it back. 

_Unless._

He'd have to start over. He'd start over, and he'd have to get it right. He'd done it before. _How many times? You think you'll ever fix it?_ What other option was there? _You know you'll kill him again. You couldn't stop yourself, even when you knew. You think you're ever going to get it right, if you keep starting from square one? You'll just keep going in circles._

_Not in circles,_ he realized. He wouldn't start from square one - he'd _remember,_ even if it was only a little, and even if it was too late. _You thought you knew how this was going to end._ He thought the old man would have killed him. Was that how it had ended the first time? Had he somehow changed it? Could he change it _back?_ Wouldn't it be better for him to die than to become a killer? 

Did he even have a choice? He couldn't live with himself, not with the old man's life snuffed out because of him - he was _fourteen,_ for fuck's sake! _You know he'll hurt you again. Could you really keep putting yourself through all this? Would you really trade it in again, just for a chance to spare the life of the rotten old man? He's not worth it, is he?_

_I don't want to be a murderer._

Danny couldn't take it. The crushing weight in his chest was too much. He sat in the cold damp wilderness and screamed, as if he could plead with the sky itself to reverse what he'd done. _How much of it will you really take back this time?_ He didn't care what it took - _what if you can never fix this?_ \- he had to get the blood off his hands. When his voice gave out and he couldn't scream anymore, he just cried. 

Finally, completely spent, he passed out.


	9. Inevitability

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on the side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned upwards, letting himself relax and stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain - _take it in while you can_ \- and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party somewhere in town. He tilted his head to listen; it sounded familiar, even though he couldn't put a name to it. He supposed it didn't matter. It was the closest he'd had to a heartbeat these days, and he'd take what he could get, no matter how fleeting. Sure enough, the wind shifted again and the distant bass was gone. He floated after it before he could help himself, as if he could keep it in his mind as a reminder - a reminder of what? He didn't know. He just knew that it had come and gone in an instant, and that he was horribly lonely. He stretched out his shoulders again - did he land on that one funny? Was that why it was giving him trouble? He frowned. He hadn't been this sore in a while, either, now that he thought about it. Something in him complained if he twisted a certain way - had he bruised a rib when he wasn't paying attention? - and he drifted down to the roof of the play structure to see if he could parse why. 

He couldn't, but what he found was worse. Not only was he sore - one of his hands had gone cold, too, and he shook it out a few times in a fruitless effort to get the blood flowing again. He knew his binder cut in sometimes if he wore it too long - was that even still an issue, if he was dead? _Apparently,_ he griped to himself. _Quit being so reckless, idiot._ He'd have to be more careful when he got into ghost fights from now on - he could only push himself so far, after all, and he'd hate to sustain any serious injuries. He settled on the molded plastic shingles, splaying like a beagle along the spine of the structure, and stared up at the stars. That was always the answer for stress, in his mind; a few moments could erase a bad day at school, and he knew portions of the night sky almost by heart depending on the season. He'd pointed out the entire zodiac to Sam and Tuck between all the times they'd sat up on the roof together, and they never seemed to get tired of it. That was nice - Danny never got tired of it, either. 

A sudden pang of longing made him pause. Sam and Tucker - he missed them. It was inexplicable - _when was the last time you saw them?_ \- but undeniable. Was that why he was so stressed? He'd hung out with them - when? That afternoon? No, he thought, it was longer than that. Wasn't it? Why was he so numbingly lonely all of a sudden? Couldn't he talk to them? He reached down without thinking, remembering a minute later that he'd left his cell at home. _Of course you did, remember?_ Why hadn't he had it with him? 

_Whatever. Just go home._

He flew lower through the streets. Something in the back of his mind had grown prickly and nauseating; despite his best efforts, and despite the stars, it had soured his mood. _Maybe I've just had a long night,_ he told himself, _god, I'm so tired._ The feeling just paced back and forth like an irritated cat, refusing to settle or to allow him any peace. 

He paused. The sensation was all too familiar - _ghost_ \- but along with it came a hard lump that formed in his stomach. Dread rolled in like a heavy cloud over his mind; his eyes traced the street before him, settling without hesitation on the abandoned storefront the next block down. _An oil painting; spatters of crimson and lime._ His mouth went dry. Everything in him was suddenly tense, as if expecting a fight. _Don't you?_ He floated closer, knowing he shouldn't but unable to stop himself, and the lump in his gut turned over. _You knew it would be the coffeeshop, didn't you?_ the ghostly voice in him asked, with a notable degree of smugness. Whenever it spoke directly to him, it was chiding; to hear it so calm - so _plain_ \- was alien. He'd wanted to swat it away, like he so often did when it nagged or poked fun, but he hesitated. When it wasn't berating him, it served as ghostly intuition. What did it know? What did _he_ know, even if he hadn't realized it yet? 

Something was wrong, and it was more than he could articulate. He saw beyond the broken windows and into the empty shop - it was like peering into a dream, and he knew it would turn into a nightmare the second he stepped inside. Something compelled him to, but he remained still. He saw, in a flash, what would become of him - _thermos skittered out of his hands; hopelessly tangled up in seconds_ \- and everything in him went cold. How had he known that? He just _knew._ Could he afford to ignore a feeling like that? 

No, of course he couldn't. He took a step back, knowing whatever was waiting for him would be better undisturbed, and was up in the air again. He turned and aimed for home, and the cold lump of dread began to relent. He could see that the house was dark - his parents and sister weren't home yet, and that should have made him feel better. He hadn't missed curfew; he wouldn't be grounded; he could still meet Sam and Tucker for movie night; he didn't have to worry about anyone finding out his secret when he tried to sneak in. He'd sneak in anyway, naturally - the open window allowed him inside, and he could say he hadn't gone out at all. That would be better, wouldn't it? 

He sank to his bedroom floor, still chewing over what had happened - or what _hadn't_ happened, he realized. The more he thought about it, the more came back to him: he would have been attacked, wouldn't he? Trying to find out for sure was like remembering a dream. The harder he tried to pin down anything specific - any details at all, for that matter - the more everything else slipped through his fingers. _But it doesn't matter now. You got away from all of that, didn't you?_ He supposed that should have made him feel better, too. 

Why, then, hadn't the knot in his stomach dissipated? 

Something tumbled off the shelf by the door, startling him, but he whirled around too late; he was attacked and knocked out of the air, and he landed awkwardly on the floorboards and twisted himself around to fight. He was hit again, ensnared, and hopelessly tangled up in seconds. _This wasn't supposed to happen!_ Thrown into panic in an instant, he pulled at the steel cables wrapped around him - 

He only caught a flicker of the shadow behind him before he was struck with a solid blow to the head and fell out of consciousness. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and that he'd been led to the empty shop - anything after that had started to get a little hazy. Hadn't he been ambushed? _You idiot, you ran away, remember?_

_Did you really think it mattered?_

He pushed himself up into an awkward sitting position, the last of his headache dissolving. _Oh, shit. Oh, shit oh fuck! Not again!_ His hands had been tied together behind his back, and a length of heavy chain - _let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?_ \- linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the bricks over his head. He'd known exactly what would have been waiting for him in the back of that empty shop; he'd known, but it hadn't made a difference. He'd been captured anyway - _you thought it would have been that easy?_ \- and he realized what he'd gotten himself into. He gave his wrists a practiced twist, as if the straps binding them might simply fall away. Failing that, he meant to fade through them and render them useless. _Of course I can't do that - bet that bastard won't let me change back, either._ Half-heartedly, he gave his transformation an attempt. 

He backed himself up against the bricks and took a deep breath. _Okay, okay, you saw that one coming. Just think for a sec. Don't panic, don't you fucking do it! So what, you're gonna have to get your ass out of here. You can do that, right? What else haven't you remembered yet?_ He cast a glance about the room before him, knowing that none of it was new. Every detail was infuriatingly stale in his mind. He was somewhere in the bowels of the old man's labs - _would he? if I asked nice?_ \- and he knew he'd have to be careful if he was going to make it out this time. _This time._ He'd been here before, hadn't he? He didn't care _how;_ he'd figure that out later. _Stick with what you know. You've done this already. How many times? Does it matter? You just have to make it out. See if you can remember anything else._

_You're not getting away! Not this time!_ He was punched with an instant of his own terror that made him recoil as if he'd been physically struck. He hadn't been ready for it - his mind rang with the echo of his own voice, shrieking and wounded, that made something in him grow cold. Was that what would happen if he couldn't do this? 

What could possibly scare him badly enough to make him shriek like that? 

He was trying his best not to panic. _Look at you, you're freaking out already. Good going, idiot._ He could feel his hands begin to tremble, and curled them both into fists in an effort to keep them still. _You're still here - don't you think you should have escaped by now? How many times have you gone through this?_

_Just once more. Did you think you could do it?_

The steel door in the corner slid open and Danny froze. The sudden light made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He stared up at the old ghost, mind already working over what was, or wasn't, to be said. _Do you think you'll make it out this time?_ He knew he had to; he didn't have a choice. He steeled himself. _Here we go._

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little ghost before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid, despite his facade - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake." 

"Thought I'd stop in for tea," Danny spat, his fingers already grasping for the straps on his wrists. If he could only get loose - _come on, I can almost reach_ \- he'd have a better chance. Nevermind that he couldn't fight, and that his ghost powers were useless. He'd come up with something. _You have to. He'll kill you otherwise._ Wasn't that how this was supposed to end? He didn't want to think about that. 

Vlad remained stiff. "Oh, being funny already, are we? Tell me, dear boy - do you really enjoy being so obstinate? Hm? This - this _pointless feud_ has gone on for some time now. Must you be such a pest? Don't you ever tire? Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you, and I've begun to think that you're simply not worth it." 

Familiarity had begun to sting in Danny's mind, and he knew he had to be careful. _You can't fuck it up this time. You have to make it out._ Despite himself, terror had begun to crawl over the lump in his stomach and solidify in his throat. He swallowed, mouth dry, knowing he had to buy himself enough time to escape. _Can you even do that? Haven't you tried before? Would you even know for sure if you did?_ He forced himself to meet the dreadful spirit's eyes. "I'm not - I'm not worth it?" 

Vlad gave him a slow shake of the head. "No, my boy, I'm afraid you're not. I was hesitant at first, of course. You have _potential,_ Daniel - even an extraordinarily powerful ghost such as myself can see that. It was both blinding and tantalizing - could you even imagine what we could accomplish together, instead of at each other's throats?" He'd refused, at first, to believe that he'd be easier off putting the boy out of his misery. Certainly, he could find a way to bring the stubborn little ghost around? It had taken far too long to admit that, perhaps, he couldn't. _It's too late for any of that now, my friend. He's made up his mind long ago, just as you have made up yours. Wishing will get you nowhere._ He paused, letting all his breath out at once. "But I should have known better, should have realized sooner, should have ended this long ago. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. You've driven me to this, you know - aren't you pleased with yourself? Isn't this what you've been aiming for?" 

"What?" Danny exclaimed, static beginning to crackle in his ears in lieu of a pounding heartbeat. He caught his unruly tongue at the last second: _you stupid bastard, you think this is my fault?_

Vlad leaned abruptly forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back, and made Danny flinch. He was unblinking; his voice fell almost to a whisper. "Isn't it? You're nothing but endless sarcasm and impudence - surely you were hoping for this? To drive me to absolute madness? What did you think was going to happen, hm? Oh, let me guess - you hadn't even thought that far ahead, had you? Of course you didn't. You thought it would be fun and games forever, didn't you?" 

Danny bore it in silence. He couldn't get his hands to quit shaking - _you better cut that out, you'll never get out of here otherwise_ \- and half-baked fragments of memory blurred together in his mind. _You call this asking nice; you're not getting away; an oil painting; now, what might that be; everything's like pulling a hen's teeth._ How in hell was he supposed to sort through it all? How many times had he gone through this? He tried to shut everything out - for his life, he tried! - but it was relentless. _He's gonna kill me, I can't fix it, I'm never gonna get out of here and he's gonna cut me open - _

The knot of ice in his gut wrenched all at once; flashes of visceral detail were too much for him to bear. _You know how this ends._ He couldn't shove the thoughts away. He had to stop this - but how could he, with his ghostly abilities useless and his hands tied behind his back? He couldn't meet Vlad's dreadful gaze, and the static had climbed ever-higher into a grating screech in his head. He knew he couldn't slip free; wouldn't he have tried that, in some previous incarnation of this hell? What was left for him, except to hold out as long as he could, and then to die? Couldn't the old man just be done with him? 

_Would he, if I asked?_

Vlad straightened again. He allowed himself a brief moment of smugness - _oh, won't you look at that, he's giving up already!_ \- and a thin joyless smile spread across his face. "You're smart to keep your mouth shut, my boy, but I'm afraid it's far too late for that. Tell me, do you really think you're going to make another one of your ridiculous escapes? Do you still think you can stop me?" 

Danny's voice broke. "No," he whispered, daring himself not to cry, "I can't." He'd given up trying to keep his hands still; he could feel cold tears welling up already, and dread tightened in his chest. _It doesn't matter. He's going to kill you anyway._ "I can't, okay? You win - " 

Vlad was upon him in an instant. He had a fistful of Danny's hair before he could even flinch, and yanked the boy upwards just to watch him scramble to get his feet under him. His unblinking stare was overwhelming. "Oh, you think I'll let you go now, is that it? So long as you ask me nicely? So long as you tell me whatever it is I'd like to hear? Tell me, then, that you'll join me, that you'll renounce everything that you ever knew, that you'd leave it all behind in a _heartbeat_ \- tell me that, won't you? Oh, and do tell me the truth, dear boy - I simply _detest_ being lied to." 

"I. . ." Danny faltered, forced to face the mad ghost. He kicked uselessly as he was pulled up off his feet; panic clawed at him - _you fucking idiot you blew it_ \- and his mind ground to a halt. 

Vlad's glower hardened. "That's what I thought," he growled, and electrocuted the little ghost on the spot. 

Danny froze up, unable to think or to twist himself away. Everything in him wrenched at once; in his mind he was screaming but he couldn't make a sound, much less break free. Dead or not, he wasn't meant to take that kind of abuse. He changed - or, at least, he meant to, and only then did the murderous ghost relent. Danny was left reeling and limp in his grip, and too-slowly his mind came back into focus. His skin had begun to smoke, he realized - hadn't he changed back? No, of course he hadn't. He knew that. He knew, too, that he'd run out of time. He wasn't going to make it - not this time. _He's gonna kill me._

_Won't he?_

The knot of ice in him grew sharp and demanding in an instant. _You stupid bastard, you can't quit!_ Even if just for a fleeting moment, he was overcome with fury. He struck out before he could think, planting a foot on either side of Vlad's face. Vlad dropped him; he stumbled back, caught his footing, and lunged again. His ghost powers were useless but he wouldn't let that stop him - he threw his weight behind a headbutt, catching the old man under the ribs and making him stagger back. He caught himself - _don't you know what comes next?_ \- at the last second, but not soon enough; he was hit, twice in succession, and slammed back up against the bricks. _Don't you fucking cry about it, you'll have plenty worse, any second now - _

Danny braced himself. He was struck with a spear of solidified ectoplasmic energy, and for just a moment he was blinded by the pain. The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; something in him sputtered and gave out. He knew it wouldn't kill him - _of course it won't, just like everything else he'll do to you_ \- but he still found himself wishing it would. _Won't he, if I asked nice?_ His eyes met with Vlad's, pained and terrified. Speech was beyond him; the words came out only as a choked gurgle. "Just - fucking kill me, you bastard - " 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Vlad gave the spear a twist, making Danny seize up. He could feel the boy trembling under his heel - _oh, he's pleading already? and to think I expected better of him_ \- and he stepped back, allowing the spear to dissipate. "I think you misunderstand, dear boy - why, to put you so quickly out of your misery would be rather generous of me, but I've got far better ideas than that. You're one of two half-ghosts in existence, you know. It would be such a shame to throw you out so soon." One hand rested on the chain attached to the hook bolted into the bricks, and just for a moment he gave Danny a pleasant smile. "Now, let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?" 

"No, _don't - !"_ Danny knew it all - _how many do you think you'll keep? - I simply can't wait to go through the readings on that one - oh, haven't I broken that before?_ \- but there was nothing he could do. Terror took over him as he was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else; his mind had tried to shut out the pain hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Everything that could be done to him was done. Four of his teeth had been pulled out; he was electrocuted nearly to a husk, not once but twice; ripped nearly in two and kept together only by a handful of strained tendons and ligaments; both his kneecaps broken; branded by red-hot instruments of all sorts; one side of his suit lit on fire in a rage and left to burn when he dared resist one too many times; slit at the throat to see how much plasma he could stand to lose; crushed past anything any living being was meant to withstand; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; skull bashed against the bricks to the point of caving in; partially eviscerated; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn back together only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and begging for his afterlife. 

Vlad just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - now, isn't this interesting, let's dig a little deeper - oh, haven't I broken that one before? in that fight, why, yes, I think I have, looks awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. He knew a great deal about human anatomy, of course, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost. Was that his heart? More importantly - would he miss it, if it were to be removed? "My," he murmured, intrigued, "Now, what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind one way or the other. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm. He'd been condemned to darkness hours ago; he'd fallen into a pained delirium, unable to keep up with the torturous ghost's whims, but was thrown suddenly and without mercy back into visceral clarity. _Now, what might that be?_ He knew, in an instant, what was to become of them both the second Vlad pushed him too far. He knew he'd been wrong about everything. This was the last step, certainly, but he wouldn't be killed. He'd become an abhorrence - _abomination of frost and fury_ \- and the old man's transgressions would be wiped away with his own lifeblood. "Don't - don't touch it, please, I can't - " 

"No?" Vlad echoed, his attention already falling back to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. Irradiated green stained everything in the wound, and had soaked through the fibers of the boy's suit and pooled below him, but whatever was glowing was hidden deeper within him. The thought occurred to Vlad at once: _is that his core? It's no wonder he doesn't want me near it._ Things had suddenly become interesting again, it seemed - he pried two of Danny's ribs just a little further, allowing him room to reach in with his other hand. 

_"Please, I can't do this - "_

The second Vlad's fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into furious light and forced him back. It took him only a moment to understand what was happening - a core in desperation could lash out with the last of its energy, according to what he'd read. Was this it? Couldn't Danny be reeled back in afterwards, once his core was spent? Had Vlad pushed him over the edge? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made, it was too late. 

Danny knew it was too late, too. Everything in him went numb at the same instant that his core plucked control out of his hands - _someone's gotta keep this shitty body together!_ \- and the only thing left he could feel was the arctic chaos building up in him. His core wasn't just lashing out, it was _feeding;_ it drowned him out, its demand for blood insatiable, and the energy it consumed allowed it to bend his will and mutilate his body. _Protected! now kill!_ it demanded, directing his movements with ice. His consciousness followed in overwhelmed agreement - _after all this? don't you want to get even?_ \- and the bowels of the manor were obliterated with almost no effort. Only when the upper levels of the house threatened to come cascading down did he turn his eyeless gaze skyward. 

He shot up to the higher levels of the house, and only faltered for a moment - _distant bass, and a whiff of fresh air_ \- but it wasn't enough. He took off again through the foyer down uneven halls, the burning frostbite in his core skewing his will as he sought out the ghost that had thrown him over the edge. _Should have killed you when I had the chance; now, what might that be; let's see what little ghosts are made of_ \- it all grew together like so many crystals of ice in his mind, driving him onwards. He floated down the hall, his element trailing dutifully behind him, and paused only for a moment at the heavy double doors at the end. His flayed limb was used as nothing more than an instrument of blunt force against them, and they buckled. 

The doors exploded inwards, along with the stonework that had held them and enormous shards of broken ice; there floated Danny, an abomination of frost and fury, blind but hunting on instinct. His useless head rolled, locking onto his prey. His remaining fingers curled like a beast itching for something to tear. _Wonder if he'll beg?_ His frozen body, hanging as if from a thread, creaked with every movement he made. Liquid fog poured from the gaping wound in his chest. 

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. The cold had struck him the second the doors had been smashed off their hinges, but he hadn't expected the boy to hone in on him so soon. _What else did you expect, then?_ his nagging core snapped, _you thought he'd simply keel over? You've done this to yourself, you know. He's too far gone, can you tell? He can't see anything except his hate for you. You wanted, once, to teach him that blind hate. Isn't this what you wanted?_

_Aren't you pleased with yourself?_

A lump of dread leapt into his throat, but he tried his best to force it down. Of _course_ it wasn't his fault, of _course_ he could still bring Danny down, of _course_ he'd come out of this ordeal the winner. He still had time, didn't he? "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the curdled terror that had twisted itself up in his chest, "Dear boy - why don't you try and calm down - surely we can work this out - ?" 

_"Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, maw flashing, and slammed an icy fist through the bed-frame. His snarl was inhuman, and too many teeth glinted in the light from his furious core. _"Look at me! Take a good long goddamned look! You did this! This is your fault!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded the terrible ghost directly. Bloodlust burned ever-colder within him, fed and stoked by his raging core; everything else had gone, and he sprung into action. He pounced once, missing his prey by an inch and barreling through the wardrobe without a care. He shook off the splinters, undeterred, and lunged again. 

Vlad had begun to fear for his life. "Daniel, _please!"_ He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack - _can he even still be called that? look at him! he's too far gone!_ \- but even being in the same room as the terror was overwhelming. _Terror?_ came the bitter laugh of his own core, _you've pushed him to it! You've made him into this, and you've laughed through every bit of it!_ He shoved the voice out of his head, knowing it was right. _I can bring him down, can't I? It's not too late?_ Could he even bear to take his chances? 

He hesitated for an instant too long, and the monster was upon him. He was grabbed by the neck with the boy's flayed limb, and hoisted off his feet; insidious frost spread from the surface of the crystals to his skin and the collar of his cape, but wouldn't allow numbness. The immediate pins-and-needles began to burn in seconds, and still he couldn't twist free. _Don't you panic yet! You're better than that!_ He met the boy's relentless stare with his own - _oh, and look at all those teeth! how many did you think he'd keep?_ \- and refused to admit defeat. "You think you've won?" he hissed, "You can't defeat me - !" 

Danny's impossible snarl twisted one degree too far; his face cracked, kept whole by a thin spiderweb of frost, and the crystals in his eye sockets split. Unbearable cold rolled out from him when he spoke, his voice only a threadbare whisper against his fury. _"You're not getting away - not this time."_

Vlad knew, in an instant, that he wasn't going to win this fight. Both of his hands had frozen stiff over Danny's wrist, and he forced an ecto-blast to form between them. The explosion broke him free, and he fled through the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. 

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. _Not this time! Make him pay! Destroy him!_ He charged, his flayed limb broken, and swiped at the dreadful spirit's cape. He swiped again, catching it by the corner, and they both tumbled to a halt on the stones. Something in Danny's frozen body cracked - his spine? his leg? his head? his core didn't care - but Vlad just sprawled, scrambling a second later back to his feet in a panic. He was yelling but Danny was upon him in an instant. _Get even! Tear him apart! Make him sorry!_ He bit and tore and clawed and howled for as long as his core could sustain it, spraying arcs of ectoplasm that froze midair and shattered against the broken stone floor. His mangled limb, abused and mistreated, finally gave out and splintered apart; spikes of ice shot out from the mutilated shoulder joint - _protected! heal later!_ \- but the damage was done. The old haunt didn't stand a chance, even with Danny's bludgeon broken up, and his ghostly form was torn completely to shreds in moments. He fled back to life in desperation but Danny wasn't done - frozen drops of ectoplasm gave way to frozen drops of blood, staining him twofold when he clawed and shrieked. It didn't matter between one body or the other. He had no trouble crushing them both. 

Only when his core was exhausted was Danny able to think. He hung over what was left of the enemy, panting, clouds of breath whistling from between jagged teeth of ice. His remaining hand, missing two fingers, twitched and grasped as if still seeking destruction. His core had finished with him and wrung him out; the only thing it left behind was an unbearable pit of loathing. 

_Don't you know what you've done?_

He was overcome in an instant with guilt. He knew exactly what he'd done; despite the darkness, he could see it all laid out before him in excruciating detail. He had blood on his hands, and he couldn't take it back - he _hadn't_ taken it back. Sensation returned to him in the wake of his core's retreat. He was nothing more than a mangled horror, his failing body less protected by the insidious frost than consumed by it. Shards of ice clicked and snapped whenever he moved, and his remaining hand came up to his mutilated face. _How much of this did you really think you could take back this time?_ Even to the touch, he knew it wasn't his - eyes of cracked parasitic crystals, monstrous teeth, skin frozen like stone. _Are you still even human?_

He couldn't bear that. His fingers clawed at the edges of the crystals, heedless of pain or futility. Hatred clouded his mind, not for the old man but for himself - how could he exist like this? How could he exist at all? _Why didn't he just kill me?_ His body sank, exhausted, and he crumpled into a heap on the stones. His fingers hooked onto the icy mass over his face and it came away in pieces, each with a glacial crack. The empty sockets were bleeding again, and he transformed a second later; his entire body was jerked back into place, correcting in broken limbs and joints, and he was left in the midst of the ruin. His body, now human, was whole. Inside, he was still an abomination. 

_Murderer. That's what you are._

He scrambled to the dying man's side - _you can't just leave him_ \- but he knew it was too late to save him this time. _This time._ The wrecked house around him was burned into his mind; it crowded him in, as if it would judge his futile plea for redemption. He'd known how this was going to end. _Why couldn't you stop this?_ He'd not only been bent on destruction, he'd _willed_ it, with as little effort as he willed flight, or intangibility. Everything around him had crumbled under his torrential fury, even the ghost that had tried to kill him. 

The dying man lay sprawled at the murderer's feet. His human body had been impaled on a jagged spike of ice, stained with blood and frozen shreds of viscera, but he was still writhing. He had minutes at most; his breaths were short, and he coughed up a delicate spatter of blood. When his eyes met with Danny's they were unbearable. 

"I have to stop this," Danny croaked, tears already freezing in the corners of his eyes. He crumpled to his knees, his body already beginning to go numb from the cold. "I have to stop this, you have to tell me - " 

The old man's gaze hardened. "You can't - " he spat, forcing down another fit of coughs, "Look what you've done - this is your fault - " 

"I know!" Danny cried, swiping one eye with the heel of his hand, "I can't keep doing this, I - every time it always ends like this - I don't want to be a murderer - you have to tell me, _please - !"_

One mutilated hand got ahold of Danny's wrist, and tightened with the last ounces of the old man's life. He forced down a final cough, but a thin line of blood slid from between his lips when they curled into a sneer of hatred. "This is your fault - you little shit - " His dying breath was failing him, but it hardly mattered. Danny knew the rest. 

_I should have killed you when I had the chance._

Danny's breath hitched. "Why didn't you? Goddammit, don't you leave me, you have to tell me how to fix this! Don't you - " he grabbed the old man by the lapels, as if he could still somehow force an answer out of him, but it was too late. 

He was dead. Danny had killed him. 

He knew it was too late - _you couldn't take it back, could you?_ \- and he knew he had to try again. Couldn't he fix it, if he just went around once more? How many times had he said that? "You stupid bastard," he whispered, red-eyed and tear-stained, "You _idiot,_ how the hell am I supposed to stop this? I can't, you have to tell me - for _fuck's sake,_ you have to fucking tell me! I can't do this! I can't _keep_ doing this! I - I don't want to be a murderer. . ." 

Unearthly fog ate up his voice, and the ruins of the house refused him an answer. Broken pillars of stone jutted through the mist like shadows; the corner of the destroyed painting sat, half-submerged, in boiling pools of liquid that had collected in the crevices between stones and debris; droplets of still-frozen blood and ectoplasm littered the broken stones in all directions. _You did this. Look at what you destroyed. Take a good long goddamned look. Familiar, isn't it? All this destruction - you knew you were capable of it, before you even began to remember. You've watched entire cities fall. You knew you could do it, and you knew that, someday, you'd learn to do it with nothing more than your voice. You're inhuman, you're just a monster, you're dangerous. . ._

_. . .you're inevitable._

He had to get away. The ruined house, the remains of the man that had almost killed him, how he knew he'd do it again - _how many times, before you really become him?_ \- he had to get away from all of it. Even as he stumbled back to his feet, there was no release. He'd run, of course, only because he had to; with nowhere to escape to, and no one to tell him he was going to be alright, where could he go? Home? 

How could he look his own mother in the eye after all this? 

So he ran into the night, the cold moon his only witness. He ran until he was exhausted, but forced himself onward to the point of collapse. _You're just a monster._ He'd have blood on his hands forever, no matter how many times he went through this hell, or how many times he tried to wipe it all away. He'd never escape it, and he couldn't take any of it back. 

_Unless._

He'd have to get it right. _How many times? You really think you can fix it? You'll just kill him again. You couldn't stop yourself, even when you knew. You think you're ever going to get it right?_ Did he even have a choice? He couldn't live with himself, not with the old man's life snuffed out because of him - he was _fourteen,_ for fuck's sake! _He'll just hurt you again. Could you really keep putting yourself through all this? Would you really trade it in again, just for a chance to spare the life of the rotten old man?_

_Just for a chance to be human again?_

Danny couldn't take it. The crushing weight in his chest was too much. He sat in the cold damp wilderness and screamed, as if he could plead with the sky itself to reverse what he'd done. He didn't care what it took - _how many times, before you become him?_ \- he had to get the blood off his hands. He couldn't be a murderer. He couldn't end up like the old man. _Please, I can't keep doing this._

Finally, completely spent, he passed out.


	10. Defeat

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on the side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned upwards, letting his body relax and stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain - _take it in while you can_ \- and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party somewhere in town. He tilted his head to listen; he couldn't put a name to it, but he knew he'd heard it before. He supposed it didn't matter. It was the closest he'd had to a real heartbeat for some time now, and he'd take what he could get, no matter how fleeting. Sure enough, the wind shifted again and the distant bass was gone. He floated after it for a moment, as if he could keep it in his mind as a reminder - a reminder of what? He didn't know. He just knew that it had come and gone in an instant, and that he was terribly lonely. He stretched out his shoulders again - did he land on that one funny? Was that why it was giving him trouble? He frowned. He hadn't been this sore in a while, either, now that he thought about it. Something in him complained if he twisted a certain way - had he bruised a rib when he wasn't paying attention? - and he drifted down to the roof of the play structure to see if he could parse why. 

He couldn't, but what he did find was worse. Not only was he sore - one of his hands had gone cold, too, and he shook it out a few times in a fruitless effort to get the blood flowing again. Was that even supposed to be an issue, if he was dead? _Apparently,_ he griped to himself, unable to shake the soft numbness. He curled his fingers a few times, as if that might help, and then gave up. _Jesus, you're just beat all over tonight. Don't be so reckless, idiot._ He'd have to be more careful when he got into ghost fights from now on - he could only push himself so far, after all, and he'd hate to sustain any serious injuries. He settled on the molded plastic shingles, splaying like a beagle along the spine of the structure, and stared up at the stars. That was always the answer for stress, in his mind; a few moments could erase a bad day at school, and he knew portions of the night sky almost by heart depending on the season. He remembered pointing out the entire zodiac to Sam and Tucker over the course of a year; they never seemed to mind no matter how often he dragged them up to the roof after sunset. He was glad for that. 

A sudden pang of longing made him pause. Sam and Tucker - he missed them. It was inexplicable yet undeniable. _When was the last time you saw them? How long ago was that?_ He frowned. He'd hung out with them on the way home from school, hadn't he? It had been that same afternoon - why couldn't he remember any of the details? Why did it feel like so much longer than a few hours? Why did the time feel so suddenly empty? 

_You've got things to do tonight, remember?_

That thought struck him, and he only realized afterward that it came form the smug little voice that dwelled somewhere within his ghostly form. It spoke just as often as a gut feeling than it did outright, and usually it was to poke fun at him. This time, it just seemed plain. It knew something - _he_ knew something, but it didn't want to tell him what, and he resigned himself to figuring it out. Something in the back of his mind had grown prickly and nauseating; despite his best efforts, and despite the stars, it had soured his mood. The feeling paced back and forth like an irritated cat, refusing to settle or to allow him any peace. _Don't you remember?_

It was only a flash - _an oil painting; handprint of blood_ \- but it hit him all at once. It was the empty coffeeshop a few blocks over. That much had become a sudden certainty. How he knew was beyond him - _isn't it always?_ \- but he had to investigate further. He took off and flew lower through the streets, knowing he had to be there but not quite remembering why; half-formed images and fragments of dreams floated through his mind, but he couldn't parse them. _The little blinking thing; now, what might this be; blinding and tantalizing._

_Not dreams, you fucking idiot - they're memories._

He landed across the street from the abandoned coffeeshop and stared up at the facade. Dread rolled in like a heavy cloud over his mind as his eyes traced the details of the building. His mouth went dry. Everything in him was suddenly tense, as if expecting a fight. _Don't you know what comes next?_ He saw beyond the broken windows and into the empty shop - it was like peering into a dream, but he knew it would turn into a nightmare the second he stepped inside. Something compelled him to, but he remained still. He saw, in a flash, what would become of him - _thermos skittered away; hopelessly tangled_ \- and everything in him went cold. Could he afford to ignore a feeling like that? 

He had half a mind to turn and go home. He took a step back and was up in the air again. _You think it's that easy?_ the little voice griped, making him hesitate. Wouldn't it be? Wouldn't it be better for him to go home? 

Of course it would. He turned and fled, knowing whatever was waiting for him would be better undisturbed, and aimed for home; finally, the cold lump of dread in him began to relent. He could see that the house was dark - his parents and sister weren't home yet, and that should have made him feel better. He hadn't missed curfew; he wouldn't be grounded; he could still meet Sam and Tuck for movie night; he didn't have to worry about anyone finding out his secret when he tried to sneak in. He'd sneak in anyway, naturally - the open window allowed him inside, and he could say he hadn't gone out at all. That would be easier, wouldn't it? 

He sank to his bedroom floor, still chewing over what happened - what _hadn't_ happened, he realized. The more he thought about it, the more came back to him: he would have been attacked, he knew, but he couldn't pin down anything concrete past that. The harder he tried to remember anything specific - any details at all, for that matter - the more everything else slipped through his fingers. _Does it still matter? None of it happened._ He supposed that should have made him feel better, too. 

Why, then, hadn't the knot in his stomach dissipated? 

Something tumbled off the shelf by the door, startling him, but he whirled around too late; he was attacked and knocked out of the air, and he landed awkwardly on the floorboards and twisted himself around to fight. He was hit again, ensnared, and hopelessly tangled up in seconds. _This wasn't supposed to happen!_ Thrown into panic in an instant, he pulled at the steel cables wrapped around him - 

He only caught a flicker of the shadow behind him before he was struck with a solid blow to the head and fell out of consciousness. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and he'd gone to the empty coffeeshop - anything after that had started to get a little hazy. Hadn't he been ambushed? _You idiot, you ran away, remember?_

_Did you really think it would have mattered?_

He pushed himself up into an awkward sitting position, the last of his headache dissolving. _This again - I knew it._ His hands had been tied together behind his back, and length of heavy chain - _let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?_ \- linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the bricks over his head. He knew what he'd gotten into; he backed himself up against the bricks, and took a deep breath. _Okay. You were right about all of this. Don't you dare panic. Just think for a minute._ He concentrated, and slowly began to slip further ahead - _thought I'd stop in for tea; you call this asking nice; everything's like pulling a hen's teeth._ Couldn't he remember how he'd slip free, if he really tried? Wouldn't it be just a little further? 

_You're not getting away! Not this time!_ He was punched with an instant of his own terror that made him recoil as if he'd been physically struck. He hadn't been ready for that - his mind rang with the echo of his own voice, shrieking and wounded, that made something in him grow cold. Was that what would happen to him if he couldn't do this? What other choice was there? What was left to be done? 

Everything in him uncoiled at once. He realized, in an instant, that it wasn't going to be a fight. _It was never going to be, and you were never going to win._ This had all happened before, hadn't it; that was why he remembered, and why the memories fractured and blurred together, and why he couldn't settle on any certain details. Each iteration was transposed over the last - _how many times?_ \- and he knew he had to stop it somehow. 

_Just once more. Do you think you can do it?_

He had to give into the old man. He'd never admit defeat normally - his stubborn pride wouldn't allow it, but all of a sudden it became the only option. Surely, if there had been another way, he'd have found it by now? The certainty that he'd never bend to the old ghost's will became the certainty that he wasn't repeating himself. How many times, he wondered, had he repeated himself before, and not known until it was too late? 

He could make it this time, couldn't he? 

Dread hung over his mind anyway - a hard lump had formed in his stomach, and static crackled quietly but persistently in his ears. There'd be no getting rid of that, no matter how much he hated it; it was one of the things that came with being a ghost, and he'd learned to ignore as much of it as he could. Still, it meant he was scared, and that was something he couldn't shove away. 

The steel door in the corner slid open, and Danny froze. The sudden light made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He felt small, but refused to acknowledge it concretely; at the very least, he wouldn't let any of it on and allow the old ghost any satisfaction. He steeled himself. _Here we go again._

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little ghost before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake." 

"Thought I'd stop in for tea," Danny retorted, because he knew he had to. He forced himself to hold the old ghost's eyes, and to keep his hands from shaking - _don't fuck it up, please, for the love of god you have to make it out this time_ \- but there was no hiding the terror that leapt up into his throat. The old haunt looming over him was unbearable, and it was all he could do to keep from tears. 

Vlad, on the other hand, remained stiff. "Oh, being funny already, are we? Tell me, dear boy - do you really enjoy being so obstinate? Hm? This - this _pointless feud_ has gone on for some time now. Must you be such a pest? Don't you ever tire? Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you, and I've begun to think you're simply not worth it." 

Danny winced. Familiarity had begun to sting again, and he knew he had to be careful. His mouth had run dry, and he couldn't hold the dreadful spirit's eyes any longer. The static escalated to a shriller buzz, despite his best efforts, and his voice was already cracking. "I'm not worth it?" 

Vlad gave him a slow shake of the head. "No, my boy, I'm afraid you're not. I was hesitant at first, of course. You have _potential,_ Daniel - even an extraordinarily powerful ghost such as myself can see that. It was both blinding and tantalizing - could you even imagine what we could accomplish together, instead of at each other's throats?" He paused, letting all his breath out at once. _It's too late for any of that now, my friend. He's made up his mind long ago, just as you have made up yours. Wishing will get you nowhere._ "But I should have known better, should have realized sooner, should have ended this long ago. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. You've driven me to this, you know - aren't you pleased with yourself? Isn't this what you've been aiming for?" 

"What?" Danny exclaimed, before he could stop himself. He caught his unruly tongue at the last second: _you stupid bastard, you think this is my fault?_

Vlad leaned abruptly forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back, and made Danny flinch. He was unblinking; his voice fell almost to a whisper. "Isn't it? You're nothing but endless sarcasm and impudence - surely you were hoping for this? To drive me to absolute madness? What did you think was going to happen, hm? Oh, let me guess - you hadn't even thought that far ahead, had you? Of course you hadn't. You thought it would be fun and games forever, didn't you?" 

Danny bore it in silence, unable to force himself to speak. He couldn't get his hands to quit shaking - _cut that shit out, at least he hasn't killed you yet_ \- and he tried to shut out the fragments of half-baked memories that collided in his mind. _You call this asking nice; wonder if he'll beg; an oil painting; now, what might that be; everything's like pulling a hen's teeth_ \- it was relentless. He knew the old man would kill him. Wasn't it already too late? Did he still have the chance to fix it? _Is it really dying that you're so afraid of? or what you know has to happen first?_ "I - " he couldn't keep the tears from burning in his eyes, and he couldn't keep his voice steady. He swallowed, mouth dry, and tried again. "I didn't - please, I'm sorry, I - " 

Vlad straightened again. He allowed himself a brief moment of smugness - _oh, won't you look at that, he's giving up already!_ \- and a thin joyless smile spread across his face. "I'm afraid it's too late for that now, my boy. Tell me, do you really think you're going to make another one of your ridiculous escapes? Do you think I'll let something slip oh-so-miraculously at the last possible second, and you'll be able to break free?" 

Danny's voice broke. "No. I can't." He'd given up trying to keep his hands still; he knew it was too late. Dread tightened in his chest. _It doesn't matter what you say. You fucked it up again and he's going to kill you._ "I can't, okay? You win - !" 

Vlad was upon him in an instant. He had a fistful of Danny's hair before he could even flinch, and yanked the boy upwards just to watch him scramble to get his feet under him. "Oh, aren't you smart? I'm supposed to let you go now, is that it? So long as you ask me nicely? So long as you tell me whatever it is I'd like to hear?" 

"I - " Danny froze up, forced to face the mad ghost. He kicked uselessly as he was pulled off his feet; panic clawed at him, and he could barely breathe. "I'll do whatever you want - but please - !" 

"Whatever I want," Vlad echoed, pausing for a moment in mock contemplation, and his insufferable narrow-eyed gaze slid back to the trembling spirit in his grip. He was smiling again but there was no happiness in it. "Now, there's a funny little notion. Tell me, then - if, somehow, I were persuaded not to harm you, you'd join me, wouldn't you?" 

"I. . ." Danny hated it. Everything in him screamed not to give in - _you stupid bastard, you can't quit yet!_ \- but he knew he had no other choice. Panicked tears had begun to stream down his face, and he couldn't bear to hang any longer in Vlad's grip. _You think you'll make it? Don't you know what has to happen before you can try again?_ That thought was too much. ". . .yes." _Would it really be better this way?_

"You'll decry your useless family as well?" Vlad pressed, too eager to drag every possible concession from the boy while he could. Despite his promises, of course, he had little intention of setting Danny free, or even sparing him any of the tortures that were planned for the evening. It was satisfying, at the very least, to hear the little ghost bend so readily. 

Danny knew he had no choice. ". . .yes." 

"Tell me you'll do as I say," Vlad demanded, relentless. 

" - I will - " 

" - that you'll renounce everything you ever knew - " 

" - yes - !" 

" - that you'll leave it all behind in a _heartbeat - "_

_" - yes!"_

"Oh, and Daniel?" Vlad paused, his smile dissolving into a fanged snarl, "Do tell me the truth. I simply detest being lied to." 

Danny was impaled in an instant. A spear of solidified energy ran straight through him, and the pain hit him a second later. The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; something in him sputtered and gave out. He knew it wouldn't kill him - _of course it won't, just like everything else he'll do to you_ \- and he knew that he wasn't going to make it out. _Not this time._ He spat a mouthful of ectoplasm from between grit teeth, knowing what would come next. _You couldn't stop it. Don't you deserve this, then?_ "Please - just end this - " 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Vlad gave the spear a twist, making Danny seize up. He could feel the boy trembling - _oh, he's pleading already? and to think I expected better of him_ \- and dropped him without a care. 

Danny collapsed against the cold metal tiles. The spear dissipated, but the damage had been done; luminescent green ran from his mouth and from the raw wound, and the shock had all but paralyzed him. He couldn't breathe. He could only watch as the murderous ghost stood over him, one foot on his chest to keep him down. _Wouldn't he kill me, if I asked nice?_ "Just - fucking kill me - you bastard - " 

Vlad leaned over him, stamping down the greedy voice in him that demanded blood. _Can't we tear the brat apart? Aren't we having fun yet?_ "I think you misunderstand, dear boy - why, to put you so quickly out of your misery would be rather generous of me, but I've got far better ideas than that. You're one of two half-ghosts in existence, you know. It would be such a shame to throw you out so soon." He stepped back, and one hand rested on the chain attached to the hook bolted into the bricks. "Now, let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?" 

_"No, not again - !"_ Danny knew it all - _you fucking blew it, you deserve this_ \- but there was nothing he could do. Terror took over him as he was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else; his mind had tried to shut the pain out hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Everything that could be done to him was done. Four of his teeth had been pulled out; he was electrocuted nearly to a husk, not once but twice; ripped nearly in two and kept together only by a handful of strained tendons and ligaments; both his kneecaps broken; branded by red-hot instruments of all sorts; one side of his suit lit on fire in a rage and left to burn when he dared resist one too many times; slit at the throat to see how much plasma he could stand to lose; his limbs dislocated until he was nearly dismembered; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; skull bashed against the bricks to the point of caving in; partially eviscerated; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn back together only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and begging for his afterlife. 

Vlad just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - now, isn't this interesting, let's dig a little deeper - oh, haven't I broken that one before? looks awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. His curiosity was piqued in an instant; he knew a great deal about human anatomy, of course, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost. Was that his heart? Did he still need it? Most importantly - would he miss it? "My," he murmured, "Now, what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind one way or the other. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm. He'd been condemned to darkness hours ago, and had fallen into a pained delirium. He was aware, but only in the barest sense; he followed the torturous ghost's whims by cuts and burns and fractures, but was thrown suddenly and without mercy back into visceral clarity. _Now, what might that be?_ He knew in an instant, the same way he'd known about everything else that had happened, what would become of them both the second Vlad pushed him too far. He'd been wrong about everything. This was the last step of the grisly waltz, certainly, but he wouldn't be killed. _That's not how this ends._ He'd become an abomination; the old man's transgressions would be wiped away with his own lifeblood. Fresh panic skewered him. "Don't - don't touch it, please, don't make me - " 

"No?" Vlad echoed, his attention already falling back to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. Irradiated green stained everything in the wound, and had soaked through the fibers of the boy's suit and pooled below him, but whatever was glowing was hidden deeper within him. The thought occurred to Vlad at once: _is that his core? Yes, I suppose it must be, mustn't it? It's no wonder he doesn't want me near it._ Things had suddenly become interesting again, it seemed - he pried two of Danny's ribs just a little further, allowing him room to reach in with his other hand. 

_"Please, I can't do this again - "_

The second Vlad's fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into furious light and forced him back. _Again?_ his mind echoed, but without enough time to process it. He knew what was happening, of course - a core in desperation could strike out with the last of its energy before a ghost could be truly killed, according to what he'd read. Was this it? Couldn't Danny be reeled back in afterwards, once his core was spent? Had Vlad pushed him over the edge? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made - _that was no mistake, you fool, you've done this on purpose_ \- it was too late. 

Danny knew it was too late, too. Everything in him went numb as his core took over - _someone's gotta keep this shitty body together!_ \- and it plucked control from him in an instant. The only thing left that he could feel was the arctic chaos building up in him. His core wasn't just lashing out, it was _feeding;_ it drowned him out, its demand for blood insatiable, and the energy it consumed allowed it to bend his will and mutilate his body. _Protected! Heal later! Kill first!_ it screamed, directing his movements with the shell of ice that covered him. His consciousness followed, overwhelmed and unable to resist - _after all this? don't you want to get even?_ \- and the bowels of the manor were obliterated with almost no effort. Even blind, he was still aware of the carnage - _pools of liquefied oxygen; a fog of instant death_ \- and only when the upper levels of the house threatened to come cascading down did he turn his eyeless gaze skyward. 

He shot up into the foyer, pausing only for a moment with the sudden blast of heat - _distant bass, and a whiff of fresh air_ \- but his core devoured everything within his reach. He took off again down uneven halls and rooms that would buckle into the destroyed basement any minute, the burning frostbite skewing his will as he tracked down the ghost that had thrown him over the edge. _Should have killed you when I had the chance; now, what might that be; let's see what little ghosts are made of_ \- it all grew together like so many crystals in his mind, driving him onward. He floated down the hall, his element trailing dutifully behind him on every surface, and paused only for a moment at the heavy double doors at the end. His flayed limb, itching for destruction, was used as nothing more than an instrument of blunt force; the doors were forced off their hinges. 

They exploded inwards, along with the stonework that had held them and enormous shards of broken ice; there floated Danny, an abomination of frost and fury, blind but hunting on instinct. His useless head rolled, locking onto his prey. His remaining fingers curled like a beast searching for something to tear. _Wonder if he'll beg?_ His frozen body, hanging as if from a thread, creaked with every movement he made. Liquid fog poured from the wound in his chest, and his core cast a ghastly light through the room. 

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. The cold had struck him the instant the doors had been smashed off their hinges, but he hadn't expected the boy to hone in on him so soon. _What else did you expect, then?_ his nagging core snapped, _you were hoping for him to simply keel over? You've done this to yourself, you know. He's too far gone, can't you tell? He can't see anything except his hate for you. You wanted, once, to teach him that blind hate. Isn't this what you wanted?_

_Aren't you pleased with yourself?_

A lump of dread leapt into his throat, but he tried his best to force it down. Of _course_ it wasn't his fault, of _course_ he could still bring Danny down, of _course_ he'd come out of this ordeal the winner, of _course_ he hadn't made any mistakes. He still had time, didn't he? He could salvage this, even as his own castle began to crumble around him. "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the curdled terror that had twisted itself up in his chest. _Just look at him! Is he even still sentient?_ "Dear boy - why don't you try and calm down - surely we can work this out - ?" 

_"Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, maw flashing, and made Vlad flinch. He slammed an icy fist through the bed-frame, unearthly snarl twisting across his face. _"Look at me! Take a good long goddamned look! You did this! This is your fault!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded the terrible ghost directly. Bloodlust burned ever-colder within him, and he sprung into action. He pounced once, missing his prey by an inch and barreling through the wardrobe without a care. He shook off the splinters, furious and undeterred, and lunged again. 

Vlad had begun to fear for his life. "Daniel, _please!"_ He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack - _can he still even be called that? he's too far gone, surely!_ \- but even being in the same room as the terror was overwhelming. _Terror?_ came the bitter laugh of his own core, _you've pushed him to it! Didn't he warn you? You've gone and made him into that anyway, and you've laughed through every bit of it!_ He shoved the voice out of his head, knowing it was right. _I can bring him down, can't I? It's not too late?_ Could he even bear to take his chances? 

He hesitated for an instant too long, and the monster was upon him. He was grabbed by the neck with the boy's mutilated flayed limb, and hoisted off his feet; insidious frost spread from the surface of the crystals to his skin and the collar of his cape, but refused to allow numbness. The immediate pins-and-needles grew sharp and began to burn in seconds, and still he couldn't twist free. _Don't you panic yet! You're better than that!_ He met the boy's relentless stare with his own - _oh, and look at all those teeth! how many did you think he'd keep?_ \- and refused to admit defeat. "You think you've won?" he hissed, "You can't defeat me - !" 

Danny's impossible snarl twisted one degree too far; his face cracked, kept together only by a thin spiderweb of frost, and the crystals in his eye sockets split. From between them came a single tear, rendered in liquid nitrogen, and his voice was only a threadbare whisper holding back his fury. _"You should have killed me when you had the chance."_

Vlad knew in an instant that he wasn't going to win this fight. Both of his hands had frozen stiff over Danny's wrist, and he forced an ecto-blast to form between them. The explosion broke him free, and in a panic he fled through the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. _This is your fault this is your fault this is your fault - _

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. _Not this time! Make him pay! Destroy him!_ He charged, his flayed limb broken, and swiped at the dreadful spirit's cape. He swiped again, catching it by the corner, and they both tumbled to a halt on the uneven stones. Something in Danny's frozen body cracked - his spine? his leg? his head? his core didn't care - but Vlad just sprawled, dazed, and scrambled back up to his feet a second later. He was yelling but Danny heeded none of it. _Get even! Tear him apart! Make him sorry!_ He bit and tore and clawed and howled for as long as his core could sustain it, spraying arcs of ectoplasm that froze midair and shattered against the broken stone floor. His mangled limb, abused and mistreated, finally gave out and splintered apart; spikes of ice shot out from the mutilated shoulder joint - _protected! heal later!_ \- but the damage was done. Danny's core raged on regardless; the old haunt didn't stand a chance, and his ghostly form was torn swiftly to shreds of ectoplasmic remains. He flashed back to life in desperation but Danny wasn't finished - frozen drops of ectoplasm gave way to frozen drops of blood, staining him twofold when he clawed and shrieked. It didn't matter between one body or the other. He had no trouble crushing them both. 

Only when his core was exhausted was Danny able to think. He hung over what was left of the enemy, panting, clouds of breath whistling from between jagged teeth of ice. His remaining hand, missing two fingers, twitched and grasped as if seeking further carnage. His core had finished with him and wrung him out; the only thing it left behind was an unbearable pit of loathing. 

_Don't you know what you've done? Didn't you know you couldn't fix it?_

He was overcome in an instant with guilt. He knew exactly what he'd done; despite the crushing darkness, he could see it all laid out before him in excruciating detail. He had blood on his hands - _you've killed him_ \- and he couldn't take it back. He _hadn't_ taken it back. Sensation returned to him in the wake of his core's retreat. He was nothing more than a mangled horror, his failing body less protected by the insidious frost than consumed by it. Shards of ice clicked and snapped whenever he moved, and his remaining hand came up to his mutilated face. _Did you really think you could take it back this time? How stupid are you?_ Even to the touch, he knew it wasn't his - eyes of cracked parasitic crystals, monstrous teeth, skin frozen like stone. _Are you still even human?_

He couldn't bear that. His fingers clawed at the edges of the crystals, heedless of pain or futility. Hatred clouded his mind, no longer for the old man but for himself - how could he exist like this? How could he commit these atrocities, over and over again? _Why didn't he just kill me?_ His body sank, exhausted, and he crumpled into a heap onto the stones. His fingers hooked over the icy mass and it came away in pieces, each with a glacial crack. The empty sockets were bleeding again, and he transformed a second later; his entire body was jerked into place, correcting broken limbs and joints, and he was left in the midst of icy ruin. His body, now human, was whole. Inside, it didn't matter. He was still an abomination. 

_Murderer. That's what you are._

He scrambled over discarded and stained shards to the dying man's side - _you can't just leave him!_ \- but he knew there would be no saving him. _Not this time._ The wrecked house around him was burned into his mind; it crowded him in, as if it would judge his futile plea for redemption. _You knew how this was going to end. Looks familiar, doesn't it? You knew you'd become a monster someday._ He'd not only been bent on destruction; he'd _willed_ it, with the same ease as flight, or intangibility. Everything around him had crumbled under his torrential fury, even the ghost that had tried to kill him. 

The dying man lay sprawled at the murderer's feet. His human body had been impaled on a jagged spike of ice, blotted with frozen shreds of viscera, but he was still writhing. He had minutes at most; his breaths were short, and he coughed up a delicate spatter of blood. When his eyes met with Danny's, they were unbearable. 

"I have to stop this," Danny pleaded, tears already freezing in the corners of his eyes. He crumpled to his knees, his body beginning to go numb from the cold. "I have to stop this - what the hell am I supposed to do - ?" 

The old man's gaze hardened. "You can't - " he spat, forcing down another fit of coughs, "Look what you've done - this is your fault - " 

"I know!" Danny cried, swiping one eye with the heel of his hand, "I can't keep doing this, I - how the hell do I stop you - you stupid bastard, you have to tell me - !" 

One mutilated hand got ahold of Danny's wrist, and tightened with the last ounces of the old man's life. He forced down a final cough, but he knew it didn't matter. A thin line of blood slid from between his lips when they curled into a final sneer of hatred. "This is your fault - you little shit - " His dying breath was failing him, but Danny knew the rest. 

_I should have killed you when I had the chance._

Danny's breath caught in his throat, and he couldn't keep from tears. _"Why didn't you?_ Goddammit, don't you leave me now, you have to tell me how to fix this! Don't you fucking do it - !" He grabbed the old man by the lapels, as if he could still somehow force an answer out of him, but it was too late. 

He was dead. Danny had killed him. 

He'd failed - _of course you did, what else did you expect?_ \- and he knew he had to try again. Couldn't he fix it, if he just went around once more? How many times had he said that? _Just once more._ "You stupid bastard," he whispered, red-eyed and tear-stained, "You fucking _idiot!_ I gave you what you wanted this time! Didn't I? What more do you want from me? You have to tell me - for _fuck's sake,_ you have to fucking tell me! I can't do this! I can't _keep_ doing this! I - I can't be a murderer. . ." 

His voice was eaten up by the unearthly fog that had settled over the ruins of the house, and he was refused an answer. Broken pillars of stone jutted like grave markers through the mist; the corner of the destroyed painting sat, half-submerged, in boiling pools of liquid that had collected in the crevices between stones and debris; droplets of still-frozen blood and ectoplasm littered the broken floor in all directions. Something further in the house buckled and collapsed. _You did this. Aren't you proud of yourself? Did you really think you'd be the hero this time? Don't you know any better?_

_You're inevitable, remember?_

Danny couldn't bear it. He had to get away. The ruined house, the remains of the man that had almost killed him, how he knew he'd do it again - _how many times, before you become him? before you can't bring yourself back?_ \- he had to get away from all of it. Even as he stumbled back to his feet, there was no release. He'd run, of course, but only because he had to; with nowhere to escape to, and no one to tell him he was going to be alright, where could he go? Home? 

How could he look his own mother in the eye again, after all this? 

So he ran into the night, the cold moon his only witness. He ran until he was exhausted, but forced himself onward to the point of collapse. _You're just a monster, you knew this was going to happen and you didn't stop it, you'll never stop it, you'll be a murderer forever._ His hands would be stained twofold, no matter how many times he went through this hell, or how many times he tried to wipe it all away. He'd never escape it, and he couldn't take any of it back. 

_Unless you get it right next time._ That was the only thing left that he had to cling onto. He had to go around - _just once more_ \- and he had to get it right, find that one crucial thing to say that could erase everything, figure out how to make Vlad let him go, even if he'd be under the madman's control. Wouldn't that be better than killing him? Did he even have a choice? 

_How many times have you done this? You think you'll fix it this time? You know you'll just kill him again, and again, and again. You couldn't stop yourself, even when you knew. You think you're ever going to get it right?_ He couldn't live with himself, not with the old man's life snuffed out because of him - he was _fourteen,_ for fuck's sake! _He'll just hurt you again. Could you really keep putting yourself through all this? Haven't you had enough? Would you really trade it in again, just for another slim chance to spare the rotten old man's life?_

_Just for a chance to be human again?_

Danny couldn't take it. The crushing weight in his chest was too much. He sat in the cold damp wilderness and screamed, as if he could plead with the sky itself to reverse what he'd done. He didn't care what it took - _what if you can't bring yourself down?_ \- he had to get the blood off his hands. He couldn't be a murderer. He couldn't end up like the old man, and he couldn't become the monstrous horror that destroyed cities with a breath alone. _Please, I can't keep doing this, I can't be a monster._

Finally, completely spent, he passed out. 


	11. Hesitation and Grief

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on the side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned upwards, letting his body relax and stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain - _take it in while you can_ \- and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party somewhere in town. He tilted his head to listen; he couldn't put a name to it, but he knew he'd heard it before. He supposed it didn't matter. It was the closest he'd had to a real heartbeat for some time now, and he'd take whatever he could get, no matter how fleeting. Sure enough, the wind shifted again and the distant bass was gone. He floated after it for a moment, as if it had taken a part of him with it. _Hasn't it,_ he thought to himself. He didn't know that for certain. He just knew that it had come and gone in an instant, and that he was terribly lonely. He stretched out his shoulders again, and winced - did he land on that one funny? and how come something stung in him if he twisted around a certain way? Had he bruised a rib when he wasn't paying attention? He was sore all over, he found, and he drifted down to the roof of the play structure to take a break. _Jesus, you're just really beat tonight. What's with that, anyway?_

He made himself about as comfortable as he could on the spine of the structure, eventually electing to splay out like a beagle since it didn't twist his shoulders too badly, and stared up at the stars. That was always the answer for stress, in his mind; a few moments could erase a bad day at school, or a long night with too many ghosts. He knew portions of the night sky almost by heart, depending on the season, and he remembered pointing out the entire zodiac to Sam and Tucker over the span of a year once. They never seemed to mind it, no matter how many times he dragged them up to the roof after sunset. He never got tired of it, either. He missed them. 

The pang of longing made him pause. Of course he missed them, but he was struck by how suddenly, and how _deeply_ he missed them. _When was the last time you saw them? How long ago was that?_ He frowned. Hadn't he hung out with them on the way home from school? It had been that same afternoon, and yet he couldn't remember any of the details. In his mind, it had suddenly become much longer than a few hours - why did the time feel so completely and gut-wrenchingly empty? 

_You've got things to do tonight, remember?_

That thought struck him, and he only realized afterward that it came from the smug little voice that dwelled somewhere within his ghostly form. It spoke just as often as a gut feeling than it did outright, and usually it was to poke fun at him. This time, it just seemed tired. It knew something - _he_ knew something, but it didn't want to tell him what, and he resigned himself to figuring it out. Half-forgotten things in the back of his mind had grown prickly and nauseating; despite his best efforts, and despite the stars, it had soured his mood. _Doesn't it feel like you're just going around in circles?_ The feeling paced back and forth like an irritated cat, refusing to settle or to allow him any peace. _Don't you remember?_

It was only a flash - _an oil painting; frost and fury_ \- but it hit him all at once. It was the empty coffeeshop a few blocks over. That had become a sudden certainty. How he knew was beyond him - _isn't it always?_ the voice griped - but he had to investigate further. He took off and flew lower through the streets, knowing he had to be there but not quite remembering why; half-formed images came like dreams through his mind, but he couldn't parse them. _The little blinking thing; now, what might this be; blinding and tantalizing._

_Not dreams, you fucking idiot - they're memories._

He landed across the street from the abandoned shop and stared up at the facade. Dread rolled in like a heavy cloud over his mind as his eyes traced the details of the building. His mouth went dry. Everything in him tensed as if expecting a fight. _Don't you know what comes next? Do you think you can run away again?_ He saw beyond the broken windows and into the empty space - it was like peering into a dream, but he knew it would become a nightmare the second he stepped inside. Still, something compelled him to. _Do you think it'll matter?_ He saw what would become of him - _thermos skittered away; hopelessly tangled up in seconds_ \- and everything in him went cold. Could he afford to ignore a feeling like that? 

He had half a mind to turn and go home. He took a step back, knowing the place would be better undisturbed, and was up in the air again. _You thought it'd be that easy, remember?_ the little voice prodded, making him hesitate. Wouldn't it be? Shouldn't he just go home instead? 

A spike of fuckor struck him. It wouldn't be better if he fled - _he'll get you anyway_ \- and he stared down again at the building before him. If it didn't matter whether or not he ran away, what _did_ matter? Surely something must, and his mind began to race in an effort to determine what. He concentrated, slowly clawing further ahead - _thought I'd stop in for tea; you call this asking nice; everything's like pulling a hen's teeth._ The more details he tried to pin down after that, the less he could keep in focus; couldn't he remember how he'd get himself free, if he really tried? Wouldn't it be just a little further? 

_You're not getting away! Not this time!_ He was punched with an instant of his own terror that made him recoil as if he'd been physically struck. He hadn't been ready for that - his mind rang with the echo of is own voice, shrieking and wounded, that made something in him grow cold. Was that what would happen to him if he couldn't do this? What other choice was there? To go home, and be captured anyway? 

_Do you still think it's going to matter?_

Everything in him uncoiled at once. He realized, in an instant, that it wasn't going to be a fight, and that he was never going to win it. This had all happened before; that was why he remembered, and why the memories fractured and blurred together, and why the details were beyond him. Each iteration was transposed over the last - _how many times?_ \- and he knew he had to stop it. 

_Just once more. Do you really think you can do it?_

He had to give in to the old man. Ordinarily, he'd never admit defeat - his stubborn pride wouldn't allow it, but all of a sudden it became the only option. It became certain in an instant - he wouldn't be repeating himself then, would he? If there was another way, he'd have found it by now. How many times, he wondered, had he repeated himself before, and not known it until it was too late? 

He turned back to the empty shop below him. The knot of dread in his stomach tensed as he faded through the storefront and into the abandoned space. His mind kept turning over - _what if you can't do it? what are you gonna do then? how are you gonna get out?_ \- but he stamped his doubts down. He hated to think of what might come after that if he failed, what the old man would make him do, what he'd endure, but he knew he didn't have a choice. _You'll get out eventually, won't you? How else can you stop this from happening again?_

His gaze settled on the little blinking thing on the table in the back of the shop, and he allowed himself to be taken away. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing that he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and he'd gone to the empty coffeeshop - _you didn't run away this time_ \- and that he'd been ambushed. Of course he had - it wouldn't have mattered if he'd have run away, would it? 

_Do you think you can get out this time?_

He pushed himself up into an awkward sitting position, the last of his headache dissolving. _This again. Don't you fucking panic this time. You can do this._ His hands had been tied together behind his back, making both his shoulders ache, and a length of heavy chain - _let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?_ \- linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the bricks over his head. He knew what he'd gotten into; he backed himself up against the bricks, and took a deep breath. _Okay. You were right about all of this. You have a plan, right? That means you'll make it out, right? Maybe after that you can figure out why this is happening, and you can stop it. You'll have time to do all that before it's too late, won't you?_

_Won't you?_

Dread hung over his mind anyway - a hard lump formed in his stomach, and static crackled quietly but persistently in his ears. There'd be no getting rid of that, no matter how much he hated it; it was one of the things that came with being a ghost, just like the insufferable voice of his ghastly intuition, and he'd learned to ignore as much of it as he could. Still, it meant he was scared, and that was something he couldn't shove away. 

The steel door in the corner slid open and Danny froze. The sudden light made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He felt small, but refused to acknowledge it concretely. _Come on, you'll make it out this time, you know you will. You'll figure this out, and you'll put a stop to it._ At the very least, he wouldn't let on and allow the old ghost any satisfaction. He steeled himself. _Here we go again._

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little spirit before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake." 

"Thought I'd stop in for tea," Danny retorted, because he knew he had to. He forced himself to hold the old ghost's eyes, and to keep his hands from shaking - _don't you fuck it up, please, for the love of god you have to make it out this time_ \- but there was no hiding the terror that leapt up into his throat. The old haunt looming over him was unbearable, and it was all he could do to keep from tears. 

Vlad, on the other hand, remained stiff. "Oh, being funny already, are we? Tell me, dear boy - do you really enjoy being so obstinate? Hm? This - this _pointless feud_ has gone on for some time now. Must you continue to be such a pest? Don't you ever tire? Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you, and I've begun to think you're simply not worth it." 

Danny winced. Familiarity had begun to sting again, and he knew he had to be careful. His mouth had run dry, and he couldn't hold the dreadful haunt's eyes any longer. The static in his ears escalated to a shriller buzz, as if in warning, and his voice was already cracking despite his best efforts. "I'm not - ?" 

Vlad gave him a slow shake of the head. "No, my boy, I'm afraid you're not. I was hesitant at first, of course. You have _potential,_ Daniel - even an extraordinarily powerful ghost such as myself can see that. It was both blinding and tantalizing - could you even imagine what we could accomplish together, instead of at each other's throats?" He paused, letting all his breath out at once. _It's too late for any of that now, my friend. Wishing and regret will get you nowhere._ "But I should have known better, should have realized sooner, should have ended this long ago. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. You've driven me to this, you know - aren't you pleased with yourself? Isn't this what you've been aiming for?" 

"N-no, I - " Danny stammered, realizing too late that this wasn't new. He was repeating himself again - _I can't be, not when I tell him what he wants!_ \- and he could feel himself going numb around the edges. 

Vlad leaned abruptly forward, hands clasped neatly behind his back, and made Danny flinch. He was unblinking; his voice fell almost to a whisper. "Isn't it? You're nothing but endless sarcasm and impudence - surely you were hoping for this? To drive me to absolute madness?" 

"I didn't - " 

"What did you think was going to happen?" Vlad snapped, "Oh, let me guess - you hadn't thought that far ahead, had you? Of course you hadn't. You thought it would be fun and games forever, didn't you?" 

Danny bore it in silence, unable to force himself to speak. He couldn't get his hands to quit shaking - _cut that shit out, maybe you can still make it, at least he hasn't killed you yet_ \- and he tried to shut out the fragments of half-baked memories that collided in his mind. _You call this asking nice; a handprint of blood; you're not getting away; now, what might this be; everything's like pulling a hen's teeth_ \- it was relentless. He knew the old an would kill him if he didn't give in. Wasn't it already too late? Did he still have the chance to fix it? _Is it really dying that you're so afraid of? or what you know has to happen first?_ "I - " he couldn't keep the tears from burning in his eyes, and he couldn't keep his voice steady. He swallowed, mouth dry, and tried again. "I didn't - please, I'm sorry - " 

Vlad straightened again. He allowed himself a moment of smugness - _oh, won't you look at that, he's giving up already!_ \- and a thin joyless smile spread across his face. "I'm afraid it's too late for that now, my boy. Tell me, do you really think you're going to make another one of your ridiculous escapes? Do you think I'll let something slip oh-so-miraculously at the last possible second, and you'll be able to break free?" 

Danny's voice broke. "No. I don't." He'd given up trying to keep his hands still; it was too late. That much had become certain. Dread tightened in his chest. _It doesn't matter what you say. You said it before, didn't you? You fucked it up and he's just going to kill you again._ "I can't, okay? You win - !" 

Vlad was upon him in an instant. He had a fistful of Danny's hair before he could even flinch, and yanked the boy upwards just to watch him scramble to get his feet under him. "Oh, aren't you smart? I'm supposed to let you go now, is that it? So long as you ask me nicely? So long as you tell me whatever it is I'd like to hear?" 

"I - " Danny froze up, forced to face the mad ghost. He kicked uselessly as he was pulled off his feet; panic clawed at him, and he could barely breathe. "I'll do whatever you want - but please - !" 

"Whatever I want," Vlad echoed, pausing for a moment in mock contemplation, and his insufferable narrow-eyed gaze slid back to the trembling spirit in his grip. He was smiling again but there was no happiness in it. "Now, there's a funny little notion. Tell me, then - if, somehow, I were persuaded not to harm you, you'd join me, wouldn't you?" 

"Yes. . ." Danny hated it. Everything in his screamed not to give in - _you stupid bastard, you can't quit yet!_ \- but he knew he had no other choice. Panicked tears had begun to stream down his face, and he couldn't bear to hang any longer in Vlad's grip. _Don't you know what has to happen before you can try again?_ That thought was too much. 

"You'll decry your useless family as well?" Vlad pressed, too eager to drag every possible concession from the boy while he could. Despite his promises, of course, he had no intention of setting Danny free, or even sparing him any of the tortures that were planned for the evening. It was satisfying, at the very least, to hear the little ghost bend so readily. _Oh, just think of all the screaming too! What fun!_

Danny knew he had no choice. ". . .yes." 

"Tell me you'll do as I say," Vlad demanded, relentless. 

" - I will - " 

" - that you'll renounce everything you ever knew - " 

" - yes - !" 

" - that you'll leave it all behind in a _heartbeat_ \- " 

_" - yes!"_

"Oh, and Daniel?" Vlad paused, his smile dissolving into a fanged snarl, "Do tell me the truth. I simply detest being lied to." 

Danny was impaled in an instant. A spear of solidified energy ran straight through him, and the pain hit him a second later. The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; something in him sputtered and gave out. It wouldn't kill him - _of course it won't, just like everything else he'll do to you_ \- and he knew he wasn't going to make it out. _Not this time._ He spat a mouthful of fluorescent green from between grit teeth, knowing what would come next. _You couldn't stop it. Don't you deserve this, then?_ "Please - just kill me - " 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Vlad gave the spear a twist, making Danny seize up. He could feel the boy trembling - _oh, he's pleading already? and to think I'd expected better of him_ \- and dropped him without a care. 

Danny collapsed against the cold metal tiles. The spear dissipated but the damage had been done; ectoplasm ran from his mouth and from the raw wound, and the shock had all but paralyzed him. His mind ground slowly back into motion, and he realized too late - _you tried this already. You're repeating, and you'll have to suffer everything before you can try again._ He couldn't breathe. He could only watch as the murderous ghost stood over him, one foot on his chest to keep him down. _Would he kill me, if I asked?_ "Just - _please, just fucking kill me_ \- " 

Vlad leaned over him, dismissing the greedy voice in him that demanded blood. _Oh, we'll get plenty of that._ "I think you misunderstand, dear boy - why, to put you so quickly out of your misery would be rather generous of me, but I've got far better ideas than that. You're one of two half-ghosts in existence, you know. It would be such a shame to throw you out so soon." He stepped back, and one hand rested on the chain attached to the hook bolted into the bricks. "Now, let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?" 

_"No, not again - !"_ Danny knew it all - _you fucking blew it, you deserve this_ \- but there was nothing he could do. Terror took over him as he was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else; his mind had tried to shut out the pain hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Everything that could be done to him was done. Three of his fingers had been broken at the joints and then twisted off; he was electrocuted nearly to a husk, not once but twice; ripped nearly in two and kept together only by a handful of strained tendons and ligaments; both his kneecaps broken; branded by red-hot instruments of all sorts; one side of his suit lit on fire in a rage and left to burn when he dared resist one too many times; slit at the throat to see how much plasma he could stand to lose; his limbs dislocated until he was nearly dismembered; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; skull bashed against the bricks to the point of caving in; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn back together only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and begging for his afterlife. 

Vlad just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - now, isn't this interesting, let's dig a little deeper - oh, haven't I broken that one before? looks awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. His curiosity was piqued in an instant; he knew a great deal about human anatomy, of course, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost. Was that his heart? Did he still need it? More importantly - would he miss it? "My," he murmured, "Now, what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind one way or the other. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm. He'd been condemned to darkness hours ago, forced to follow the torturous ghost's whims by cuts and burns and fractures, but he was wrenched suddenly and without mercy back into visceral clarity. _Now, what might that be?_ He knew in an instant that he'd been wrong. _He's not going to kill me. He was never going to kill me._ He'd be pushed over the edge, and he'd become a monstrosity; the old man's transgressions would be wiped away in minutes, and with his own lifeblood. This was the last step of the grisly waltz, in which he would enact his vengeance. He would be justified in that, certainly, but he knew it wouldn't bring him freedom. _You'll just start over again if you kill him._ Fresh panic skewered him. "No, don't - don't make me do this - " 

"No?" Vlad echoed, his attention already falling back to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. The thought occurred to him at once: _is that his core? Yes, that must be it, mustn't it? It's no wonder he doesn't want me near it._ Things had suddenly become interesting again, it seemed, and his fingers twisted slightly to pry two of Danny's ribs further apart, allowing him room to reach in with his other hand. 

_"Don't you fucking do it or I swear I'll kill you - "_

The second Vlad's fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into furious light and forced him back. He knew what was happening, if his research was to be believed; he hesitated, but only for a moment, before turning to flee. Couldn't the boy be reeled in afterwards, once his core was spent? Were these to be his final throes? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made - _that was no mistake, you fool, you've done this quite on purpose, and he's even warned you_ \- it was too late. 

Danny knew it was too late, too. _Oh god please not again_ \- everything in him went numb as his core took over, and it plucked control from him in an instant. The only thing left for him to feel was arctic chaos, and it overwhelmed him. His core wasn't just lashing out, it was _feeding;_ it drowned him out, its demand for blood insatiable, and the energy it consumed allowed it to bend his will and mutilate his body. _Protected! Heal later! Kill first!_ it screamed, directing his movements with the shell of parasitic ice that covered him. His consciousness followed, unable to resist - _after all this? don't you want to get even?_ \- and the bowels of the manor were obliterated with almost no effort. Even blind, he was aware of the carnage - _pools of liquefied oxygen; a fog of instant death_ \- and only when the upper levels of the house threatened to come cascading down did he turn his eyeless gaze skyward. 

He shot up into the foyer, pausing only for a moment with the sudden blast of heat - _distant bass, hoping you'd get your heartbeat back someday_ \- but his core devoured everything within his reach. He took off again down uneven halls and rooms that would buckle into the destroyed basement any minute, the burning frostbite skewing his will as he tracked down the ghost that had thrown him over the edge. _Should have killed you when I had the chance; now, what might this be; let's see what little ghosts are made of_ \- it all grew together like so many ice crystals in his mind, drumming in his ears and driving him to kill. He floated down the hall, his element trailing dutifully behind him and covering everything in his wake, and paused at the heavy double doors at the end. His flayed limb blew them off their hinges with two furious strikes. 

The doors exploded inwards, unleashing winter fury and unearthly fog into the room. He floated amidst it all like a demon, hanging in the air as if from a thread, blind but hunting on instinct and certain memory. His useless head rolled, locking onto his prey. His remaining fingers twitched and curled in anticipation of the massacre - _wonder if he'll beg?_ \- and his frozen body creaked with every movement he made. Some tiny spark in his mind was screaming, but his core stamped it out with no effort. 

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. He'd felt the house begin to heave, but hadn't expected the boy to hone in on him so soon. _What else did you expect, then?_ his core snapped, _were you hoping for him to simply keel over? You've done this to yourself, you know. He's too far gone, can't you tell? He can't see anything except his hate for you. You wanted, once, to teach him that blind hate. Isn't this what you wanted?_

_Aren't you pleased with yourself?_

A lump of dread leapt into his throat, refusing to be dismissed or shoved away. Of _course_ it wasn't his fault, of _course_ he could still bring Danny down, of _course_ he'd come out of this ordeal the winner, of _course_ he hadn't made any mistakes. He still had time, didn't he? He could salvage this, even as his own castle began to crumble around him. _Just look at him! Is he even still sentient?_ "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the curdled terror that had twisted itself up in his chest. "Dear boy - why don't you try and calm down - surely we can work this out - ?" 

_"Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, maw flashing, and made Vlad flinch. He slammed an icy fist through the bed-frame, unearthly snarl twisting across his face. _"Look at me! Take a good long goddamn look! You did this! This is your fault! I fucking warned you!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded the terrible ghost directly. Bloodlust burned ever-colder within him, and he sprung into action. He pounced once, missing his prey by an inch and barreling through the wardrobe without a care. He shook off the splinters, furious and undeterred, and lunged again. 

Vlad had begun to fear for his life. "Daniel, _please!"_ He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack - _can he even be called that? there's nothing of him left, surely!_ \- but even being in the same room as the terror was overwhelming. _Terror?_ came the bitter laugh of his own core, _you've pushed him to that! Didn't he warn you? You've gone and made him into it anyway, and you've laughed through every bit of that!_ He shoved the voice out of his head, knowing it was right. _I can bring him down, can't I? It's not too late?_

_Is it?_

He hesitated for an instant too long, and the monster was upon him. He was grabbed by the neck with the boy's mutilated flayed limb, and hoisted off his feet; insidious frost spread from the surface of the crystals to his skin and the collar of his cape, but refused to allow him numbness. The immediate pins-and-needles grew sharp and began to burn in seconds, and still he couldn't twist free. _Don't you panic yet! You're better than that!_ He met the boy's relentless stare with his own - _oh, and look at all those teeth! how many did you think he'd keep?_ \- but he had begun to realize he wasn't going to win this fight. _He warned you._ "You wouldn't really - ?" 

Danny's impossible snarl twisted one degree too far; his face cracked into shards, kept together only by a thin spiderweb of frost, and the crystals in his eye sockets split. From between them came a single tear, rendered in liquid nitrogen, and his voice was only a threadbare whisper holding back his fury. _"Why didn't you kill me when you had the chance?"_

Vlad knew in an instant that he was doomed. Both of his hands had frozen stiff over Danny's wrist, and he forced an ecto-blast to form between them in a last-ditch effort to escape. The explosion broke him free, and in a panic he fled through the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. _This is your fault this is your fault this is your fault - _

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. He charged, his flayed limb broken, and swiped at the dreadful spirit's cape. He swiped again, catching it by the corner, and they both tumbled to a halt on the uneven stones. Something in Danny's frozen body cracked; his core, uncaring, pulled him up over his prey. Vlad was yelling but he lunged, unable to stop himself even if he'd wanted to. He bit and tore and clawed and howled for as long as his core could sustain it, spraying arcs of ectoplasm that froze midair and shattered against the broken stone floor. His mangled limb, abused and mistreated, finally gave out and splintered apart; spikes of ice shot out from the mutilated shoulder joint - _protected!_ \- but he raged on regardless. Even without his weapon, he tore Vlad's ghostly form to shreds, and took out everything he had left on the cowering human form as well. 

Only when his core was exhausted was Danny able to think. He hung over what was left of the enemy, panting, clouds of breath whistling from between jagged teeth of ice. His remaining hand, missing two fingers, clawed and grasped as if seeking further carnage. His core was finished, and his body was wrung out; the only thing left behind was an unbearable pit of loathing. 

_You've done it all again. Didn't you know you couldn't fix it?_

He was overcome with guilt. He couldn't stop it - he _hadn't_ stopped it - and he could see it all laid out before him in excruciating detail despite the darkness. _You killed him._ Sensation returned to him in the wake of his core's retreat, and it was too much. He was nothing more than a mangled horror, his failing body consumed by murderous frost, and shards of ice clicked and snapped whenever he moved. His remaining hand came up to his mutilated face - _are you even still human?_ \- but he knew it wasn't his. His teeth were sharp and jagged, his skin frozen like stone, his eyes overtaken by cracked parasitic shards. _You couldn't stop it. How many times are you going to do this to yourself?_

He couldn't bear it. He clawed at the edges of the mass, tearing pieces away in desperation. Hatred clouded his mind - _why did you do it, knowing you couldn't stop him?_ \- and already he was sobbing. How could he exist like this? _Why didn't you just kill me?_ he shrieked, his mouth crowded by too many teeth and unable to function without the direction of his core. His body sank, exhausted, and he crumpled into a heap on the stones. The empty eye sockets were bleeding again, and he transformed a second later; his entire body was jerked back into place, and he was left whole but empty. 

_Murderer. That's what you are._

He scrambled over discarded shards to the dying man's side - _you can't just leave him_ \- but he knew there was no saving him. _Not this time. Try again, will you?_ The wrecked house around him was burned into his mind; it crowded him in, as if it would judge his futile plea for redemption. _You knew how this was going to end. Looks familiar, doesn't it? You knew you'd become a monster someday._ He'd not only been bent on destruction, he'd willed it, with the same ease as flight, or intangibility. Everything around him had crumbled, even the ghost that had tried to kill him. 

_Why didn't he?_

The dying man lay sprawled at the murderer's feet. His human body had been impaled on a jagged spike of ice, blotted with frozen shreds of viscera, but he was still writhing. He had minutes at most; his breaths were short, and he coughed up a delicate spatter of blood. When his eyes met with Danny's, they were unbearable. 

"I have to stop this," Danny pleaded, tears freezing in the corners of his eyes. He crumpled to his knees, his body already going numb, and he knew he wouldn't get the answers from the old man. He knew he had to try anyway. "How the hell am I supposed to stop you - ?" 

The old man's gaze hardened. "You're too late - " he spat, forcing down another fit of coughs, "This is your fault - " 

"I know!" Danny cried, dissolving into panicked tears, "I never wanted any of this! I - how the fuck am I supposed to stop you? I tried everything, I can't - I can't. . ." 

One mutilated hand got ahold of Danny's wrist, and tightened with the last ounces of the old man's life. He forced down a final cough, but he knew it didn't matter. A thin line of blood slid from between his lips anyway. "You wanted - to stop this. . .?" 

Danny nodded, defeated. Another sob wracked him, and his voice was hoarse. "I can't keep doing this - _please, you have to tell me - "_

"Too late now," the old man's dying breath was failing him, and he knew it. His grip wavered and loosened, tendons failing one at a time, but still he kept his eyes on Danny. "I should have - should have. . ." 

He was dead. Danny had killed him. 

"Should have killed me when you had the chance," Danny whispered, knowing the old man wasn't going to. _"Why didn't you?_ Don't you fucking leave me, you stupid bastard, you have to tell me how to fix this! Don't you fucking do it, _goddammit!"_ Both of his hands balled into fists, knowing he'd failed. _You couldn't take it back, could you?_ Couldn't he, if he just went around once more? How many times had he said that? _Just once more._ He turned to the remains before him, pricked by the last needle of anger he could muster. "You fucking _idiot!_ What more do you want from me? You want me to keep doing this forever? You want to fucking _die,_ over and over again? You're so stupid, I told you this would happen! I fucking warned you! What more do you want from me? Answer me, you stupid piece of shit!" He grabbed the corpse by the lapels, as if he could still somehow force an answer out of him. "Are you happy? Are you fucking happy? This is what you wanted, isn't it? To make me just like you? Don't you know how many times I've done this? Now I have to go back and deal with your shit again, this is _your fucking fault,_ how am I supposed to stop you? I can't - I can't fucking do it, and - " 

The anger was gone, and he was left in a crying heap at the dead man's side. The cold had already numbed his body but he didn't care. _You did this. Aren't you proud of yourself? Did you really think you'd be the hero this time? Don't you know any better? You're inevitable, remember?_ Despite it, he couldn't quit. The dead man could heed nothing, and Danny let it all out anyway. _I never wanted any of this; I have to go back; I'm so fucking sorry; I have to stop you this time; I can't turn into him; I can't turn into you._ He let out everything he had, until his mouth was numb from the cold, and he could barely move. _Would it be better if he killed me? What if I can't bring myself back next time? What if I can't stop it? What if I'm going to be a murderer forever?_

Danny couldn't take it. The crushing weight in his chest was too much. He sat amidst the ruins of the house and screamed, as if he could plead with the sky itself to reverse what he'd done. He didn't care what it took - _how many times, for a chance to be human again?_ \- he had to get the blood off his hands. He couldn't be a monster. He couldn't end up like the old man, and he couldn't become the horror that destroyed cities with a breath alone. _Please, I can't keep doing this. . ._

Finally, completely spent, he passed out.


	12. Regret

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on the side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned upwards, letting his body relax and stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain - _take it in while you can_ \- and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party from somewhere in town. He tilted his head to listen; he couldn't put a name to it, but he knew he'd heard it before. He supposed it didn't matter. It was the closest he'd had to a real heartbeat for some time now, and he'd take whatever he could get, no matter how fleeting. Sure enough, the wind shifted again and the distant bass was gone. He floated after it for a moment, entranced as if it had taken a part of him with it. _Hasn't it?_ He didn't know that for certain. He just knew that it had come and gone in an instant, and that he was terribly lonely. He stretched out his shoulders again, and winced - did he land on that one funny? and how come something stung in him if he twisted around a certain way? Had he bruised a rib when he wasn't paying attention? He was sorer than he'd been in a while, he found, and he drifted down to the roof of the play structure to take a break. _Jesus, you're just beat all over tonight. What's with that, anyway?_

He made himself about as comfortable as he could on the spine of the structure, eventually electing to splay out like a beagle since it didn't twist his shoulders too badly, and stared up at the stars. That was always the answer for stress, in his mind; a few moments could erase a bad day at school, or a long night with too many ghosts. He knew portions of the sky almost by heart, depending on the season, and he remembered pointing out the entire zodiac to Sam and Tucker over the span of a year. They never minded it, and he was glad for that. He never got tired of it, either. He missed them. 

The pang of longing made him pause. Of course he missed them, but he was struck by how suddenly, and how _deeply_ he missed them. _When was the last time you saw them? How many times ago was that?_ He frowned. Hadn't he hung out with them that afternoon? In his mind, it had suddenly become much longer than a few hours; why did he feel so completely and gut-wrenchingly empty? 

_You've got things to do tonight, remember?_

That thought struck him, and he only realized afterward that it had come from the smug little voice that dwelled somewhere within his ghostly form. It spoke just as often as a gut feeling than it did outright, and usually it was to poke fun at him. This time, it just seemed tired. It knew something - _he_ knew something, even if he hadn't realized it yet. Half-forgotten things in the back of his mind had grown prickly and nauseating; despite his best efforts, and despite the stars, it had soured his mood. _Doesn't it feel like you're just going around in circles?_ The feeling paced back and forth like an irritated cat, refusing to settle or to allow him any peace. _Don't you remember?_

It was only a flash - _an oil painting; wonder if he'll beg_ \- but it hit him all at once. It was the empty coffeeshop a few blocks over. That had become a sudden certainty. How he knew was beyond him - _I'll figure that out later_ \- but he had to investigate further. He took off and flew lower through the streets, knowing he had to be there but not quite remembering why; half-formed images came like dreams through his mind, but he couldn't parse them. _The little blinking thing; now, what might this be; blinding and tantalizing._

_Not dreams, you fucking idiot - they're memories._

He landed across the street from the abandoned shop and stared up at the facade. Dread rolled in like a heavy cloud over his mind as his eyes traced the details of the building. Somehow, that reassured him. _You're supposed to be here._ He saw beyond the broken windows and into the empty space - it was like peering into a dream, but he knew it would turn to a nightmare the moment he stepped inside. Still, something compelled him to. _Do you think it'll matter?_ He knew what would become of him - _thermos skittered away; hopelessly tangled_ \- and everything in him went cold. Could he ignore a feeling like that? 

He had half a mind to turn and go home. He took a step back, knowing the place would be better undisturbed, and was up in the air again. _Didn't you think it would be that easy once?_ the little voice prodded, making him hesitate. Wouldn't it be? 

No, he knew, it wouldn't. _He'll get you anyway._ He stared down again at the storefront before him. If it didn't matter whether or not he fled, what _did_ matter? Surely, something must, and his mind began to race in an effort to determine what. He concentrated, and began to claw further ahead - _thought I'd stop in for tea; you call this asking nice; everything's like pulling a hen's teeth._ The more details he tried to pin down, the less he could keep in focus; couldn't he remember how he'd get himself free, if he really tried? 

_This is your fault! I fucking warned you!_ He was punched with an instant of his own fury that made him recoil as if he'd been physically struck. He hadn't been ready for it - his mind rang with the echo of his own voice, roiling and limitless, that made something in him grow stiff. Was that what would happen to him if he couldn't do this? What other choice was there? To go home, and be captured anyway? 

Everything in him uncoiled at once. He realized, in an instant, that it wasn't going to be a fight, and that he was never going to win it. This had all happened before, and that was why he remembered, and why the memories fractured and blurred together. Each iteration was transposed over the last - _how many times?_ \- and he knew he had to stop it. 

_Just once more. Do you think you can do it this time?_

He thought, for a moment, that he'd give in to the old man. He'd never admit defeat otherwise - his stubbornness wouldn't allow it. Wouldn't that make it the only option, then? If there was another way, he'd have found it by now, wouldn't he? How many times, he wondered, had he repeated himself, and not known it until it was too late? 

That didn't sit right with him. It wasn't until he sat and thought about it that he remembered why. Hadn't he done that? _I gave you what you wanted this time._ It came back to him only as an echo - an echo from when? He couldn't place that much, and he hated it. How the hell was he supposed to fix _whatever this was_ if he couldn't keep everything straight? 

He landed again on the sidewalk and peered through the shop's broken windows. Couldn't he find something else that could help him? He aimed again for clarity, but it was out of his reach and he knew it. Would he have to wait for some things to happen, or for something to be said, to get any more? How would he know it wasn't too late then? _Too late for what? You don't even remember how this ends._

_Do you still think you can run away?_

A sudden mist of calm fell over him. It _didn't_ matter, he discovered. This wasn't meant to be his choice - _he'll get you anyway_ \- and he couldn't find any further clarity otherwise. If he was going to make the ending he wanted this time, he'd have to be quick, and he'd have to be one step ahead. He was certain he could do it - his previous failures only added up, which meant he was better off than he'd been in any instance before this. Didn't that give him the best chances? 

He faded through the storefront, and the knot of dread in his stomach returned. He ignored it, setting his sights on the door to the rear. It had been propped open with a cardboard box; he took a deep breath and floated through. His gaze settled on the little blinking thing on the table, and he allowed himself to be taken away. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and he'd gone to the empty coffeeshop - _you didn't have a choice, remember?_ \- and he'd been taken into the depths of the old man's manor. 

_Do you think you'll make it out this time?_

He pushed himself up into an awkward sitting position, the last of his headache dissolving. He only took a brief glance around the room, and nodded to himself. _This again. Don't you panic this time. You can do this._ His hands had been tied together behind his back, making his shoulders ache - _is that why they were sore earlier? does my body remember too?_ \- and a length of heavy chain linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the bricks over his head. He knew what he'd gotten into; he backed himself up against the bricks, and took a deep breath. _Just be careful. You'll know what you tried last time, right? It'll come back, you'll remember, and you'll fix it, and you'll find out what's causing all this._

_Won't you?_

Dread hung over his mind anyway - a hard lump formed in his stomach, and static crackled quietly but persistently in his ears. There'd be no getting rid of that, no matter how much he hated it; it was one of the things that came with being a ghost, just like the insufferable voice of his ghastly intuition, and he'd learned to ignore as much of it as he could. Still, it meant he was scared, and that was something he couldn't shove away. 

The steel door in the corner slid open and Danny froze. The sudden light made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He felt small, but refused to acknowledge it concretely; at the very least, he wouldn't let on and allow the old ghost any satisfaction. He steeled himself. _Here we go again._

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little spirit before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake." 

"Thought I'd stop in for tea," the words were stale on Danny's tongue but he spat them out anyway. He held the old ghost's eyes, his mind already churning out variations - _see, you knew it would start to come back to you_ \- but there was no hiding the terror that leapt up into his throat. He knew in an instant that his death was certain if he couldn't escape this time; there was only a flash of doubt in his mind - _he wouldn't really kill me, would he?_ \- but it was stamped swiftly out. _Of course he'll kill me. That's how this ends, isn't it?_

Vlad, on the other hand, remained stiff. "Oh, being funny already, are we? Tell me, dear boy - do you really enjoy being so obstinate? Hm? This - this _pointless feud_ has gone on for some time now. Must you continue to be such a pest? Don't you ever tire? Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you, and I'm beginning to think you're simply not worth it." 

The familiarity had begun to sting again, making Danny wince. "Maybe I'm not," he pressed anyway, ignoring the rising static as much as he could, "Maybe we don't have to do this - " 

Vlad leaned abruptly forward, hands clasped behind his back, and made Danny flinch. "Oh, you'd really like that, wouldn't you? You think I'm just going to let you go, is that it? So long as you ask me nicely? So long as you tell me whatever it is I'd like to hear?" 

"No - I don't," Danny curled both hands into fists behind his back in an effort to keep them still. _Goddammit, don't you fuck it up again. You have to make it out._ "You want me to say you win? Fine! You win! But - that doesn't matter, does it?" 

Vlad gave him a slow shake of the head. "No, my boy, it doesn't." He straightened again, and sighed. "You know, I was hesitant at first, of course. You have _potential,_ Daniel - even an extraordinarily powerful ghost such as myself can see that. It was both blinding and tantalizing - could you even imagine what we could accomplish together, instead of at each other's throats?" 

Danny's breath hitched. All he caught was a fragment - _you're inevitable, remember?_ \- and he scrambled to hold onto it before it disappeared. The only thing he could retain was the sarcasm attached to the thought itself; the rest was gone in a puff of smoke, leaving behind a reminder of the ghoulish caricature that had crawled out of his nightmares and nearly ruined his life. Was that why he'd be killed? in refusal to become such a monstrosity? 

Vlad just went on in Danny's silence. "But I should have known better, should have realized sooner, should have ended this long ago. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. You've driven me to this, you know - aren't you pleased with yourself? Isn't this what you've been aiming for?" 

"No, it's not - " Danny stammered, knowing he was repeating again but unable to stop himself. He was going numb around the edges; his mind ground almost to a halt - _which would be better? to die, or to become a horror like that?_ \- and he couldn't get his hands to quit shaking. 

One corner of Vlad's mouth curled into a snarl. "Isn't it? You're nothing but endless sarcasm and impudence - surely you were hoping for this? To drive me to absolute madness?" 

"No, I - " 

"What did you think was going to happen?" Vlad snapped, "Oh, let me guess - you you hadn't thought that far ahead, had you? Of course you hadn't. You thought it would be fun and games forever, didn't you?" 

Danny bore it in silence, unable to force himself to speak. He tried to shut out the fragments of memory that collided and blurred in his mind, but to no avail. _You call this asking nice; now, let's see what little ghosts are made of; an oil painting; spatters of crimson and lime; tell me how to fix this._ He knew almost everything and yet he could parse nothing; it overwhelmed him, and it was all he could do not to shut down completely. It'd be too late then - how was he supposed to fix this otherwise? - and he forced himself to meet the mad ghost's eyes. Despite the terror, that grounded him somewhat. "This isn't - " The words had gotten caught in his throat, and he couldn't keep his voice steady. He swallowed, mouth dry, and tried again. "I didn't want this - please, I'm sorry - !" 

Vlad scoffed, his eyes narrow and unforgiving. "I'm afraid it's too late for that now, my boy. Tell me, do you really think you're going to make another one of your ridiculous escapes? Do you think I'll let something slip oh-so-miraculously at the last possible second, and you'll be able to break free?" 

Danny's voice broke. "No. I don't - I can't - " It was too late; that much had become certain. He hadn't remembered enough, couldn't parse it in time, hadn't found just the right thing to allow him his freedom. Dread tightened in his chest. _You know what comes next, don't you? Better luck next time._ "I can't keep doing this - you win, okay - !" 

Vlad was upon him in an instant. He had a fistful of Danny's hair before he could even flinch, and yanked the boy upwards just to watch him scramble to get his feet under him. "Oh, aren't you smart? I'm supposed to let you go now, is that it? Now that you think you've got it all figured out?" 

"I - " Danny froze up, forced to face the mad ghost. He kicked uselessly as he was pulled off his feet; panic clawed at him, and the static in his ears was deafening. "You stupid bastard - what more do you want from me?" 

"What I want," Vlad snarled, his patience wearing out all at once, "is to be finished with this! All of it! You've been nothing but a thorn in my side since the accursed day we met! It's as if you've been put on this wretched earth with the sole purpose of plaguing me, and destroying everything I own, and everything I work for - you're relentless! You've never listened to a word I've said, no matter the circumstances, you've never laid down your insufferable pride for even a second, why, to be able to hold a real conversation? Preposterous! You exist purely to fight and destroy, and I have simply had enough!" 

Danny could barely breathe. The old ghost looming over him was unbearable, and he knew he wouldn't make it out. _Not this time._ Panicked tears had begun to stream down his face, and he couldn't bear to hang any longer in Vlad's grip. _He's going to kill you anyway. You fucked it up again._ "You - you don't have to do this, please, I - " 

Danny was impaled in an instant. A spear of solidified energy ran straight through him; he'd braced for it on instinct, only a split second before it had hit him, but the pain was blinding. The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; he spat it out from between grit teeth, knowing it was too late but refusing to accept defeat. _You know it won't kill you, just like everything else. There might still be time._ "You have to stop this, you don't un - " 

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Vlad gave the spear a twist, cutting Danny off and making him seize up. He could feel the boy trembling - _oh, he's pleading already? and to think I'd expected better of him_ \- and dropped him without a care. 

Danny collapsed against the cold metal tiles. The spear dissipated but the damage had been done; luminescent green ran from his mouth and from the raw wound, and he fought through the shock that had nearly paralyzed him. He forced himself up, despite thousands of electric needles screaming in his gut, and faced Vlad again. The terror had subsided, at least for the moment. In its place was icy determination. "I can't keep doing this - just kill me, _please,_ I swear I'll - " 

Vlad leaned over him, dismissing the greedy voice in him that demanded blood. _Oh, we'll get plenty of that._ "I think you misunderstand, dear boy - why, to put you so quickly out of your misery would be rather generous of me, I'll admit, but I've got far better ideas than that. You're one of two half-ghosts in existence, you know. It would be such a shame to throw you out so soon. Now, let's see what little ghosts are made of, shall we?" 

_"Please, not again - !"_ Danny knew it was too late. _You fucking blew it. You deserve this._ Terror took over him as he was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else; his mind had tried to shut the pain out hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Everything that could be done to him was done. Three of his fingers had been broken at the joints and then twisted off; he endured countless barrages of raw ectoplasmic energy; ripped nearly in two and kept together only by a handful of strained tendons and ligaments; both his kneecaps broken; branded by red-hot instruments of all sorts; one side of his suit lit on fire in a rage and left to burn when he dared resist one too many times; slit at the throat to see how much plasma he could stand to lose; his limbs dislocated until he was nearly dismembered; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; his eyes gouged out one at a time with a pair of sharp scissors; skull bashed against the bricks to the point of caving in; partially eviscerated; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn back together only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and begging for his afterlife. 

Vlad, once he got going, just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - now, isn't this interesting, let's dig a little deeper - oh, haven't I broken that one before? looks awfully shoddy, though, best try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. His curiosity was piqued in an instant; he knew a great deal about human anatomy, of course, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost. Was that his heart? Did he still need it? More importantly - would he miss it? "My," he murmured, "Now, what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind one way or the other. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm. He'd been condemned to darkness hours ago, forced to follow the torturous ghost's whims by cuts and burns and fractures, but he was wrenched suddenly and without mercy back into visceral clarity. _Now, what might that be?_ He knew in an instant that he'd been wrong - he'd always been wrong. _He's not going to kill me. He was never going to kill me._ Instead, he'd become an abomination of frost and fury, and the old man's transgressions would be wiped away with spatters of crimson and lime. That was the last step of the grisly waltz, and then he'd just go back and start all over again. _You're going to do this forever. Even when you remember, it isn't enough, and it's always too late._ Fresh panic skewered him. "No, don't - please, I can't do this again - " 

"No?" Vlad echoed, his attention already falling back to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. The thought occurred to him at once: _is that his core? Yes, that must be it, mustn't it? It's no wonder he doesn't want me near it._ Things had suddenly become interesting again, it seemed, and his fingers twisted slightly to pry two of Danny's ribs further apart, allowing him room to reach in with his other hand. 

_"Don't you do it I swear I'll fucking murder you - "_

The second Vlad's fingers brushed up against Danny's exposed core, it burst into furious light and forced him back. He knew what was happening, if his research was to be believed; he hesitated, but only for a moment, before turning to flee. Couldn't the boy be reeled in afterwards, once his core was spent? Were these to be his final throes? 

By the time he realized the gravity of the mistake he'd made - _that was no mistake, you fool, and he'd even warned you_ \- it was too late. 

Danny knew it was too late, too. _Oh fuck please not again_ \- everything in him went numb as his core took over, and it plucked control from him in an instant. The only thing left for him to feel was arctic chaos, and it overwhelmed him. His core wasn't just lashing out, it was _feeding;_ it drowned him out, its demand for blood insatiable, and the energy it consumed allowed it to bend his will and mutilate his body. _Protected! Heal later! Kill first!_ it screamed, directing his movements with the shell of parasitic ice that covered him. His consciousness followed, unable to resist - _after all this? don't you want to get even?_ \- and the bowels of the manor were obliterated with almost no effort. Even blind, he was aware of the carnage - _pools of liquefied nitrogen; the next level of the house quaking_ \- and he turned his eyeless gaze skyward and screamed. 

He shot up into the foyer, pausing only for a moment with the sudden blast of heat - _distant bass, hoping you'd get your heartbeat back someday_ \- but his core devoured everything within his reach. He took off again, knowing where the cowardly old spirit was hiding, and passed through uneven halls and rooms that would buckle into the destroyed basement any minute. _Should have killed you when I had the chance; now, what might this be; let's see what little ghosts are made of_ \- it all grew together into a drumming cacophony in his mind, driving him to kill. Why _shouldn't_ he get even, after all this? He floated down the hall, his element trailing dutifully behind him and crawling across every surface in his wake, and paused at the heavy double doors at the end. His flayed limb blew them off their hinges with two furious strikes. 

They exploded inwards, unleashing winter fury and unearthly fog into the room. He floated amidst it all like a demon, hanging in the air as if from a thread, blind but hunting on certain memory. His useless head rolled, locking onto his prey. His remaining fingers twitched and curled in anticipation of the massacre - _wonder if he'll beg?_ \- and his frozen body creaked with every movement he made. Some tiny spark in his mind was screaming, but his core stamped it out with no effort. 

Vlad beheld Danny in paralyzed silence. He'd felt the house begin to heave, but hadn't expected the boy to hone in on him so soon. _What else did you expect, then?_ his core snapped, _were you hoping for him to simply keel over? You've done this to yourself, you know. He's too far gone now. Can't you tell? He can't see anything except his hate for you. You wanted, once, to teach him that blind hate. Isn't this what you wanted?_

A lump of dread leapt into his throat, refusing to be dismissed or shoved away. _It wasn't my fault,_ he wanted to tell himself - but, even then, he knew that was a lie. _He warned me. Did he know this was going to happen?_ He stared up at the abomination before him, wondering if such a thing could even still be called sentient at all, and he knew he had to try and reel him in. Didn't he still have time? Couldn't he still salvage this, even as his castle was crumbling around him? "Daniel," he said slowly, betraying as little as he could of the curdled terror that had twisted itself up in his chest. "Dear boy - why don't you try and calm down - surely we can end this some other way - ?" 

_"Shut up!"_ Danny screeched, maw flashing, and made Vlad flinch. He slammed an icy fist through the bed-frame, unearthly snarl twisting across his face. _"Look at me! Take a good long goddamned look! You did this! This is your fault! I fucking warned you!"_ Despite his blindness, he regarded the terrible ghost directly. Bloodlust burned ever-colder within him, and he sprung into action. He pounced once, missing his prey by an inch and barreling through the wardrobe instead. He shook off the splinters, furious and undeterred, and lunged again. 

Vlad had begun to fear for his life. "Daniel, _please!"_ He'd leapt out of the way of the boy's first attack - _can he even be called that? there's nothing left of him, surely!_ \- but even being in the same room as the terror was overwhelming. _Terror?_ came the bitter laugh of his own core, knowing he was doomed, _you've made him into that, remember? Didn't he warn you not to push him too far?_ He tried to shove the voice out of his head, knowing it was right. _Can't I still bring him down? It isn't too late, is it?_

_Is it?_

He hesitated for an instant too long, and the monster was upon him. He was grabbed by the neck with the boy's mutilated flayed limb, and hoisted effortlessly off his feet; insidious frost crept from the surface of the crystals to his skin and the collar of his cape, but refused to allow him numbness. The immediate pins-and-needles grew sharp and began to burn in seconds, and still he couldn't twist free. _Don't you panic yet! You've got to bring him back from this madness!_ He met the boy's relentless stare with his own - _oh, and look at all those teeth! how many did you think he'd keep?_ \- but he had begun to realize that he wasn't meant to win this fight. _He warned you._ "Listen to me - I hadn't meant for this - " 

Danny's impossible snarl twisted one degree too far; his face cracked into shards, kept together only by a thin spiderweb of frost, and the crystals in his eye sockets split. From between them came tears, rendered in liquid nitrogen, and his voice was only a threadbare whisper against his fury. _"I told you I couldn't keep doing this."_

Vlad knew in an instant that he was doomed. Both of his hands had frozen stiff over Danny's wrist, and he forced an ecto-blast to form between them in a last-ditch effort to escape. The explosion broke him free, and in a panic he fled through the wrecked doorframe and down the hall. _This is your fault this is your fault this is your fault - _

Danny screamed after him, determined not to let him get away. He charged, his flayed limb broken, and swiped at the dreadful spirit's cape. He swiped again, catching it by the corner, and they both tumbled to a halt on the uneven stones. Something in Danny's frozen body cracked; his core, uncaring, pulled him up over his prey. Vlad was yelling now but he lunged, unable to stop himself even if he'd wanted to. He bit and tore and clawed and howled for as long as his core could sustain it, spraying arcs of ectoplasm that froze midair and shattered against the stones. His mangled limb fell apart, abused and mistreated, and spikes of protective ice formed over the mutilated shoulder joint. Even without his weapon, he tore Vlad's ghostly form to shreds, and took out everything he had left on the cowering human form as well. 

Only when his core was exhausted was Danny able to think. He hung over what was left of the enemy, panting, clouds of breath whistling from between jagged teeth of ice. His remaining hand, missing two fingers, clawed and grasped as if seeking further carnage. His core was finished, and his body was wrung out; the only thing left behind was an unbearable pit of loathing. 

_You've done it again. Now, doesn't this look familiar?_

He was overcome with guilt. Despite his blindness, he could see the massacre laid out for him in excruciating detail - walls of the house that had been blown apart; the oil painting, destroyed, in a pool of cryogenic liquid; glittering flakes of blood and ectoplasm strewn about the floor like a fine layer of snow; the chill fog that his core exuded; fragments of pillars that had once held the structure up, now jutting like gravestones through the mist. Sensation returned to him in the wake of his core's retreat, and he knew it had all been his doing. He was nothing more than a mangled horror, his failing body consumed by murderous frost, and shards of ice clicked and snapped whenever he moved. His remaining hand came up to his face - _are you even still human?_ \- but he knew it didn't belong to him. His teeth were sharp and uneven, his skin frozen like stone, his eyes overtaken by cracked parasitic shards. _You couldn't stop it. How many times are you going to do this to yourself?_

He couldn't bear it. He clawed at the edges of the mass, tearing pieces and shards away in desperation. Loathing clouded his mind - _murderer! that's what you are!_ \- and already he was sobbing. How could he exist like this? _Why didn't you just kill me,_ he shrieked, his mouth crowded by too many teeth and unable to function without the direction of his core. His body sank, exhausted, and he crumpled into a heap against the stones. The empty eye sockets were bleeding again, and he transformed a second later; his entire body was jerked back into place, and he was left whole but empty. 

_Why did you do it, knowing you couldn't stop him?_

He scrambled over discarded shards to the dying man's side - _you can't just leave him_ \- but he knew there was no saving him. _Not this time. Try again, will you?_ The wrecked house was burned into his mind; it crowded him in, as if it would judge his futile plea for redemption. _You knew how this was going to end. You knew you'd become a monster someday. You won't ever take it back._

The dying man lay sprawled at the murderer's feet. His human body had been impaled on a jagged spike of ice, blotted with frozen shreds of viscera, but he was still writhing. He had minutes at most; his breaths were short, and he coughed up a delicate spatter of crimson. When his eyes met with Danny's, they were unbearable. 

"I have to stop this," Danny pleaded, tears freezing in the corners of his eyes. He crumpled to his knees, his body already going numb, but he knew he wouldn't get the answers from the old man. He never did. "Please, you have to tell me - " 

The old man's gaze hardened. "You're too late - " he spat, wincing as he forced down another fit of coughs. 

"I know!" Danny cried, dissolving into panicked tears, "I tried everything - I can't stop it - I never wanted any of this - " 

One mutilated hand got ahold of Danny's wrist, and tightened with the last ounces of the old man's life. He forced down a final cough, but he knew it didn't matter. A thin line of blood slid from between his lips anyway. "Neither did I - " 

"What?" Danny's breath caught in a sob, and his voice was hoarse. "You have to tell me how to fix this - I can't do it on my own - " 

The old man's dying breath was failing, and he knew it. His grip wavered and loosened, tendons failing one at a time, but still he kept his eyes on Danny. "I should have - should have quit when I had the chance. . ." 

He was dead. Danny had killed him. 

Danny's heart skipped a beat. "Should have quit when you had the chance," he echoed, only processing it a moment later. "No, you can't - you can't just leave me here! Not again! How the hell am I supposed to fix this now?" Both of his hands balled into fists, knowing he'd failed. _You couldn't take it back, could you?_ Couldn't he, if he just went around once more? Would it even matter? His breath hitched in despair, and he ignored the tears that had collected in the corners of his eyes and begun to freeze together. His fingers had gone numb from the cold, but he didn't care. He already knew he'd go around again - as many times as it took to get the blood off his hands. 

He turned back to the remains before him, pricked by the last needle of anger he could muster. "Are you fucking happy now? You sick bastard, you want me to keep doing this forever? You want to fucking _die,_ over and over again? You're so stupid, I told you this would happen!" 

_At least he was sorry this time._

The anger was gone, and he was left in a crying heap at the dead man's side. The cold had already numbed his body but he didn't care. _At least he was sorry this time - how many more hells will you put yourself through until he realizes it before it's too late? You couldn't really keep this up forever, could you?_ He didn't have a choice. He'd go back, and start over again, and endure, and suffer. How many times until it was worth it? How many times until his failures stacked high enough to allow him to escape? How high had they stacked already? He didn't know that much. 

What did he know? What could he possibly tell the old man to set him free? Hadn't he tried it all? What other possible way was there to get himself out? Everything he'd recalled, even in time, hadn't been enough to help him. _You have potential,_ the old man had said. _I was hesitant at first._ Had he been, really? Couldn't he have been talked out of it, if he were? 

_I should have quit when I had the chance._

Danny knew it was the closest he'd ever get to an apology from the old man. It stung him - _and you went and killed him anyway_ \- and he couldn't take it. "I have to go back," he whispered, his voice eaten up by the unearthly cold, "As many times as it takes - I have to stop you. You have to help me, and - I can't be a murderer. . ." 

The crushing weight in his chest was too much. He sat amidst the ruins of the house and cried, as if he could plead with the dead man to reverse what he'd done. He didn't care what it took - _how many times, for a chance to be human again?_ \- he had to get the blood off his hands. He couldn't end up just like him, and he couldn't become the horror that destroyed cities with a breath alone. _Please, I have to go back, just once more. . ._

Finally, completely spent, he passed out.


	13. Two-step

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Friday night, it wasn't late. Danny floated weightlessly over the play structure in the park, satisfied with the night's work. He held his thermos in one hand - the little bar on the side lit up to indicate that it was only half-full - and clipped it back onto the side of his belt. It had been a slow night compared to the others this week. It was as if he could catch his breath, wind down a little, and clear his head. Things had been stressful lately, but it was alright now. Why couldn't every night be like this? 

He turned upwards, letting his body relax and stretching the stiffness out of his shoulders. The moon, only half-full, stared blankly down at him. He took a deep breath. The air was alive and earthy from the previous day's rain - _take it in while you can_ \- and when the breeze shifted it carried with it the distant thump-thump of a rowdy party from somewhere in town. He tilted his head to listen; it was the closest he had to a real heartbeat these days, and he'd take what he could get, no matter how fleeting. Sure enough, the wind shifted again and the distant bass was gone. He found himself floating after it for a moment, entranced as if it had taken part of him with it. Hadn't it? He didn't know that for certain. He just knew that it had come and gone in an instant, and that he was terribly lonely. He stretched out his shoulders again, and winced - they still ached from last time, and something in him stung if he twisted a certain way. He was sorer than he'd been in a while, and he drifted down to the roof of the play structure to take a break. _Jesus, you're just beat all over tonight. Don't be so reckless, idiot._

He made himself about as comfortable as he could on the spine of the structure, eventually electing to splay out like a beagle since it didn't twist his shoulders too badly, and stared up at the stars. That was always the answer for stress, in his mind; a few moments could erase a bad day at school, or a long night with too many ghosts. He knew portions of the sky almost by heart, depending on the season, and he remembered pointing out the entire zodiac to Sam and Tucker over the span of a year. They never minded it, and he was glad for that. He never got tired of it, either. He missed them. 

The pang of longing made him pause. Of course he missed them, but he was struck by how suddenly, and how _deeply,_ he missed them. _When was the last time you saw them? How many times ago was that?_ He frowned. He couldn't remember. _It was this afternoon,_ he wanted to tell himself, but he knew that wasn't right. It had been longer than that - much, much longer, and he wanted to talk to them. _Maybe when you're done you can go and see them. Do you think you can handle that?_

_You've got things to do tonight, remember?_

That thought struck him, and he knew it had come from the smug little voice that dwelled somewhere within his ghostly form. Usually, it poked fun at him, but tonight it just seemed tired. It knew something - _he_ knew something, even if he hadn't realized it yet. Half-forgotten things in the back of his mind had grown prickly and nauseating; despite his best efforts, and despite the stars, it had soured his mood. What had he forgotten? _Doesn't it feel like you're just going around in circles?_ The feeling paced back and forth like an irritated cat, refusing to settle or to allow him any peace. He turned it over in his mind, hoping to find a reason for it - _distant bass, and a whiff of fresh air; an impossible blast of heat, and too many teeth - _

He was hit with only a flash, but it was enough. _How many do you think you'll keep?_ It was the empty coffeeshop a few blocks over. That had become a sudden certainty. How he knew was beyond him - _is it, really?_ \- but he had to investigate further. He took off and flew lower through the streets, knowing he had to be there but not quite remembering why; half-formed images came like dreams through his mind, but he couldn't parse them yet. _The little blinking thing; now, what might this be; mangled bludgeon of ice._

He landed across the street from the abandoned shop and stared up at the facade. Dread rolled in like a heavy cloud over his mind as his eyes traced the details of the building. Somehow, that reassured him. _You're supposed to be here, but it won't matter if you're not._ He saw beyond the broken windows and into the empty space - it was like peering into a dream, but he knew it would turn to a nightmare the moment he stepped inside. Still, something compelled him to. _It won't matter anyway._ He knew what would become of him - _thermos skittered away; hopelessly tangled_ \- and something in him went cold. Could he ignore a feeling like that? 

_He'll get you anyway,_ the little voice prodded, before he could turn to fly home. How did he know that? Couldn't he remember more? He concentrated, and began to claw further ahead - _thought I'd stop in for tea; blinding and tantalizing; everything's like pulling a hen's teeth._ The more details he tried to pin down after that, the less he could keep in focus; couldn't he remember how he'd get himself free, if he really tried? 

_This is your fault! I fucking warned you!_ He was punched with an instant of his own fury that made him recoil as if he'd been physically struck. He hadn't been ready for it - his mind rang with the echo of his own voice, roiling and limitless, that made something in him grow stiff. Was that what would happen if he failed? What other choice was there? To go home, and be captured anyway? 

_Do you really think you still have a choice?_

Everything in him uncoiled at once. He realized, in an instant, that he wasn't going to be a fight, and that he was never going to win it. This had all happened before, and that was why he remembered, and why the memories fractured and blurred together. Each iteration was transposed over the last - _how many times?_ \- and he knew he had to stop it. 

_Just once more. Do you really think you can do it this time?_

He thought, for a moment, that he'd give in to the old man. He'd never do that ordinarily - didn't that make it the only option? How many times had he repeated himself, and not known it until it was too late? No, he realized, that wasn't right. _I gave you what you wanted this time,_ he'd said once. Why couldn't he remember when? How many times had he said that? 

He had a feeling that further clarity was out of his reach. He'd have to wait for something to happen, or for a particular thing to be said, to spark more. How could he know it wouldn't be too late then? Didn't he still have to find a way to stop this? _You can't keep going in circles forever, can you?_

A sudden mist of calm fell over him. _This isn't your choice,_ he realized. _He'll get you anyway._ It didn't matter if he fled or not - he'd still be captured, and he'd still have to face the old ghost. He'd have to get it right if he was going to make it out, and he was certain he could do it. His previous failures only added up; didn't that make him better off than he was before? 

He faded through the storefront, and the knot of dread in his stomach returned. He ignored it - _can't you make him sorry this time?_ \- and set his sights on the door to the rear. It had been propped open with a cardboard box; he took a deep breath and floated through. His gaze settled on the little blinking thing on the table, and he allowed himself to be taken away. 

\- - - - 

He came to slowly. The first thing he processed was that he had a splitting headache, and only began to remember other things once it faded. He recalled he'd been on patrol, and he'd gone to the empty coffeeshop - _you didn't have a choice, remember?_ \- and he'd been taken into the depths of the old man's manor. 

_Do you really still think you can do it?_

He pushed himself up into an awkward sitting position, the last of his headache dissolving. He only took a brief glance around the room, and nodded to himself. _This again. Don't you panic this time. You can do this. Make him sorry._ His hands had been tied together behind his back, and his shoulders ached - _is that why they were so sore? does my body remember too?_ \- and a length of heavy chain linked him to a hook that had been bolted into the bricks over his head. He knew what that was for, and despite his best efforts it made his stomach turn. _Quit it, you were gonna be here anyway, if you can make it out he won't kill you._

Dread hung over his mind anyway - a hard lump formed in his stomach, and static crackled quietly but persistently in his ears. There'd be no getting rid of that, he knew; it was one of the things that came with being a ghost, just like the insufferable voice of his ghastly intuition, and he'd learned to ignore as much of it as he could. Still, it meant he was scared, and that was something he couldn't shove away. 

_You still think he'll kill you?_ He swatted at the voice out of habit. He hated it, and how nagging it was - and only realized a minute later that it had prodded him into recollection in the first place. He'd _known_ before he'd _remembered_ what would happen; did that mean it knew how this was going to end? Didn't he know, even if it wasn't on a conscious level? He tried again for a spark of memory, even if it was just a mean-spirited prod. 

_I should have quit when I had the chance._ He was certain that the old man had said that. Everything in him went cold, and he grasped for anything further - _come on, I know it's in there_ \- but that was all he got. If he couldn't find clarity, did that mean he was reaching too far? Couldn't there be an answer sooner? 

The steel door in the corner slid open and Danny froze. The sudden light made him squint, but the outline that cast a shadow over him was unmistakable - Vlad Plasmius, bitter old spirit and archenemy, and here Danny sat exactly where Vlad wanted him. He felt small, but refused to acknowledge it concretely; at the very least, he wouldn't let on and allow the old ghost any satisfaction. He steeled himself. _Here we go again._

Vlad floated forward, eyes on the little spirit before him as if bored. He knew the boy was afraid - against him, who wouldn't be? - and took a moment to regard him in silence before he spoke. "Oh, Daniel, how nice that you're awake." 

"Thought I'd stop in for tea," the words were stale on Danny's tongue but he spat them out anyway. His mind kept him one step ahead - _do you really enjoy being so obstinate?_ \- and he forced himself to hold the old ghost's stare. 

Vlad remained stiff. "Oh, being funny already, are we? Tell me, dear boy - do you really enjoy being so obstinate? Hm? This - this _pointless feud_ has gone on for quite some time now. Must you continue to be such a pest? Don't you ever tire? Everything's like pulling a hen's teeth with you, and I'm beginning to think you're simply not worth it." 

The familiarity had begun to sting again, making Danny wince. "Maybe I'm not," he pressed anyway, ignoring the rising static as much as he could. "Maybe we don't have to do this - " 

Vlad leaned abruptly forward, hands clasped behind his back, and made Danny flinch. "Oh, you'd really like that, wouldn't you? You think I'm just going to let you go, is that it? So long as you ask me nicely? So long as you tell me whatever it is I'd like to hear?" 

"No - I don't," Danny curled both hands into fists behind his back to keep them from shaking. _Don't you fucking blow it this time. You've got to do this._ "You want me to say you win? Fine! But that doesn't matter, does it?" 

Vlad gave him a slow shake of the head. "No, my boy, it doesn't." He straightened again, and sighed. "You know, I was hesitant, at first, to think you were beyond me. You have _potential,_ Daniel - I was both blinded and tantalized by it, I'll admit it freely! I thought, I _hoped,_ that your boundless impudence could be reeled in. Could you imagine what we could accomplish together, instead of at each other's throats?" 

Danny's breath hitched. All he caught was a fragment - _you're inevitable, remember?_ \- and he scrambled to hold onto it before it disappeared. The only thing he could retain was the sarcasm attached to the thought itself; the rest was gone in a puff of smoke. That was why he'd be killed, wouldn't it? He'd refuse to become such a monstrosity, and the horrid ghost would take his life for it. Would that be worth it? _Can't you make it out before that?_

Vlad went on in Danny's silence. "But I should have known better, should have realized sooner, should have ended this long ago. I'm finished with this, Daniel. I've given up. You've driven me to this, you know - aren't you pleased with yourself? Isn't this what you've been aiming for?" 

"No, it's not," Danny insisted, knowing he was repeating again but unable to stop himself. _Goddammit, you have to make it out this time, don't fuck this up! _ He was going numb around the edges, despite his best efforts. 

One corner of Vlad's mouth curled into a snarl. "Isn't it? You're nothing but endless sarcasm and defiance - surely you were hoping for this? To drive me to absolute madness?" 

"No, I - " 

"What did you think was going to happen?" Vlad snapped, "Oh, let me guess - you hadn't thought that far ahead, had you? Of course you hadn't. You thought it would be fun and games forever, didn't you?" 

Danny tried to force down the tears that had begun to sting in the corners of his eyes. _You can still do this, you still have time, you'll still make it out, won't you?_ His voice had begun to crack, but he held it as steady as he could, knowing he'd slipped into familiarity again and that he'd have to claw his way back out if he was going to stand a chance. "I never wanted this - I'm sorry, okay? but please - " 

"I'm afraid it's too late for that now, my boy," said Vlad plainly, lips pressed together in a tight joyless smile. "Tell me, do you still think you're going to get out of here in one piece? Do you really have the slightest idea of how far in over your head you've gotten tonight?" 

"I know!" Danny exclaimed in desperation, hoping that there was still enough time to salvage himself. _At least he hasn't cut you open yet,_ the ghastly voice needled, nearly making him sick. He couldn't think of that, not with the awful ghost looming over him like this. _Please, I still have to make it out, I can't go through this again._ Couldn't he still find his way out? Wasn't it already too late? "I know! I know all of this, you have to listen to me - !" 

Vlad was upon him in an instant. He had a fistful of Danny's hair before he could even flinch, and yanked the boy upwards just to watch him scramble to get his feet under him. "Oh, don't you? You know exactly how futile your struggles are, hm? Tell me, then, that you'll join me, that you'll decry your useless family, that you'll renounce everything you ever knew, that you'll leave it all behind in a _heartbeat_ \- tell me that, won't you?" 

"I - " Danny froze up, forced to face the mad ghost. He kicked uselessly as he was pulled up off his feet; panic clawed at him, and the static in his ears was deafening. "I - it won't matter, you'll still - " 

Vlad electrocuted him in an instant, only realizing a second afterwards that the boy had been right; it wouldn't have mattered, and he'd still be spared none of the tortures for the evening. Disgust filled him - _how dare you let that brat talk back! tear him open already!_ \- and his own bloodthirsty core chimed in agreement. _Haven't we been patient? Didn't we want to see what little ghosts were made of?_

Danny hung in the mad ghost's grip. He was aware that his skin had begun to smoke, and was spared only by the little white sparks that danced around him in an effort to transform him. He knew that they couldn't - _distant bass, hoping you'd get your heartbeat back someday_ \- and he tried to force himself through the pain and back into clarity. _You're not getting out of here otherwise. What are little ghosts made of?_ "Please - don't do this, not again - " 

Vlad dropped him, and he crumpled against the cold metal tiles. Everything in him hurt - _just you wait_ \- and for a moment his mind was reeling. He was back out of his tracks, somehow; he scrambled away, before he could think, and slid up into the corner. Despite himself, he was trembling, and panicked tears had begun to stream down his face. _Do you still think you can make it?_ "You don't have to do this. . ." 

Vlad stiffened. "Yes, dear boy, I do." 

Danny was impaled in an instant. A spear of solidified energy ran straight through him; he'd braced for it on instinct, only a split second before it had hit him, but the pain was blinding. The sour battery-acid taste of ectoplasm filled his mouth; he spat it out from between grit teeth, knowing it wouldn't kill him, and knowing it was too late. _You'll live, you know, just like you always do._

"Hurts, doesn't it?" Vlad gave the spear a twist, making Danny seize up. He could feel the boy shaking under his heel - _oh, he's giving in so soon? and to think I'd expected better of him_ \- and the thin joyless smile returned. "Do you still think you know so much?" 

Danny couldn't breathe. The spear dissipated but the damage was done; fluorescent green ran from his mouth and from the raw wound, and he fought through the shock that had nearly paralyzed him. He forced himself up, despite thousands of electric needles screaming in his gut, and faced Vlad again. The terror had subsided, at least for the moment, replaced by icy determination. _This is your last chance._ "I know you won't kill me - you'll make me beg you to anyway - please, I can't keep doing this - " 

Vlad leaned over him, dismissing the greedy voice in him that demanded blood. _Oh, we'll get plenty of that._ "That's right, dear boy - why, to put you so quickly out of your misery would be rather generous of me, don't you think?" 

Danny spat, knowing there was nothing left for him but to be recalcitrant. _Whatever it'll be, it's all been done before_ \- as if that would make him feel any better. Already, he'd been pushed past the limits of his ghostly body; wouldn't he be killed, after he'd taken too much of a beating? _Don't count on it. You already know what's got to happen to you first._

_How many times would you do this to yourself?_

He knew it was too late. _You fucking blew it. You deserve this._ He was yanked mercilessly upwards; the joints in both of his shoulders snapped in an instant, and by the time he was suspended from the hook in the wall he was screaming. 

\- - - - 

At some point, he'd been torn open. He'd lost track through everything else; his mind had tried to shut the pain out hours ago - hours? was that how long he'd been screaming? - but it was too much. Everything that could be done to him was done. Three of his fingers had been broken at the joints and then twisted off; he endured countless barrages of raw ectoplasmic energy; ripped nearly in two and kept together only by a handful of strained tendons and ligaments; both his kneecaps broken; branded by red-hot instruments of all sorts; one side of his suit lit on fire in a rage and left to burn when he dared resist one too many times; slit at the throat to see how much plasma he could stand to lose; his limbs dislocated until he was nearly dismembered; forced to keep down all sorts of poisons; cut open down to the bone with a rough-toothed saw; skull bashed against the bricks to the point of caving in; partially eviscerated; flesh sliced open for the hell of it, and sewn back together only to keep him from falling apart. Hung up from broken joints and flayed limbs, he'd endured every last bit of it, screaming and crying and begging for his afterlife. 

Vlad, once he got going, just laughed through it all. _Don't you know how long I've wanted to do this? - now, isn't this interesting, let's dig a little deeper - oh, haven't I broken that one before? let's try again. . ._ He was as much enjoying himself as performing any kind of tests, likely more, and he'd gotten admittedly quite carried away breaking the poor boy's ribs one at a time - so carried away, in fact, that he almost failed to notice the glowing mechanism nestled further behind them. His curiosity was piqued in an instant; he knew a great deal about human anatomy, of course, but significantly less about the inner-workings of a ghost. "My," he murmured, "Now, what might that be. . .?" He glanced up to address Danny directly, as if he could possibly make up Vlad's mind one way or the other. "Shall I have a look?" 

Danny coughed up another mouthful of ectoplasm. He'd been condemned to darkness hours ago, forced to follow the torturous ghost's whims by cuts and burns and fractures, but was wrenched suddenly and without mercy back into visceral clarity. _Now, what might that be?_ That was the last step, he knew. He'd been wrong before - _you were always wrong_ \- when he'd thought it was too late. Desperation overtook him, and his useless head twitched in the dark. "No, don't - don't touch it, please, I'll - " 

"No?" Vlad echoed, attention already falling back to the gap in between broken fragments of bone. The thought occurred to him at once: _is that his core? It's no wonder he doesn't want me near it._

_"Don't you do it - I'll forget all of this just please - "_


	14. Release

Danny knew what was about to happen. He could feel every iteration of the moment when he'd become an abomination of frost and fury, and he wouldn't be able to stop it. Maybe the old man would be sorry, as he was last time; maybe he wouldn't, and he'd spit out a final vow of hatred before he died. Did it really matter, if he couldn't be stopped? 

The darkness was crushing. He was aware, but solely by what happened to him; the old man existed to him only as two hands that had paused in their relentless destruction, and had come to rest around things that were never meant to be touched or broken. Pieces of him were missing - he'd lost sensation completely in one of his hands, and he knew why; it was nothing but bone, and any moment it would be shielded by ruthless frost. _You'll destroy most of the house with that,_ growled his core smugly. Already, it had cooled within him, as if in anticipation of the coming blizzard. 

Instead, the dreadful ghost cut the silence. "What did you say?" 

"I - " he could feel where his teeth had been pulled - four of them, and they'd bled ever since - but he forced himself to speak anyway. _Would it really be better to kill him?_ "I'll forget - all of this - everything you ever did to me - I'll be your son, but please. . ." The sounds were strained and desperate; it was the last he had in him, and he knew it. His useless head hung, and he wished, beyond anything, that he'd be killed. _Please, just let me die, I can't keep doing this. . ._

The hands slid away, and Danny was alone. Wasn't he, if he could get at least a moment of coveted emptiness before something else in him was broken? Despite it, the silence was too much. The murderous haunt had gone - no, not _gone,_ but disappeared from his awareness. That, almost, was worse. He'd be hit again, or stabbed, or burned, or any number of things; what could he do, except hang and wait for it? He didn't have it in him to struggle - that had been exhausted long ago - and he couldn't perceive anything else. For an excruciating minute, he began to doubt whether he was still animate at all. _Is this what happens when a ghost dies? Darkness, forever?_

"You really meant that, didn't you?" 

Danny flinched. _Of course he's not gone. Maybe you'll get lucky and he'll kill you this time._ He nodded weakly anyway, hoping it would spare him at least some small torment. What more could be done to him, he wondered, knowing he'd find out. Maybe his tongue would be cut out, too, and he wouldn't even be able to beg - would it matter? He was meant only to suffer, and to endure. How much more could he take? 

All he could process was a swift snap before he collapsed. Everything in his mind spun; his useless body twitched without direction, scrambling for something - anything - to ground him. The metal tiles smacked him at once, and for a long moment he lay in a broken pile. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. He couldn't even find it in him to pass out. 

Only when the white spark of transformation finally caught did he begin to process again; his entire body was jerked back into place, correcting broken limbs and joints, filling gaping wounds where things had been torn up or pulled out. Everything returned in one unbearable instant. He was human again, but it was too much to process. Heartbeat, breath, vision, warmth, survival - it all clamored in his mind for acknowledgment, and he couldn't give any. The pain was gone but he was still crying, and his awareness began to shift slowly back into focus. His heartbeat had come back - after how long? - and the metal tiles were cold and unforgiving under his sudden warmth. He pushed himself up. Didn't anything still hurt? Wasn't it supposed to? He sat in a pool of his own ectoplasm and discarded chunks of flesh and bone; _that was you,_ he realized slowly, and stared in near disbelief down at his own hands. _You're alive again._

His eyes shot up to the terrible haunt floating over him. He was small, and he knew it, but he didn't dare look away for even a second. _He'll kill you if you do._ Something in him twisted; he was waiting for it - the inevitable moment the ghost would take his life, maybe in one strike, maybe a piece at a time. Why wouldn't he be killed? His human form, even whole, would be futile against the violent spirit. It dawned him slowly: _what if he's not going to kill me? What if this is how it ends?_

The haunt was still watching him, but his eyes were unreadable. Danny rose, drenched in his own ectoplasm and ethereal fluid, face red and stained with tears. _Maybe you won't kill him. Maybe you've done it._ He was still trembling but he felt nothing; everything in him went numb as the concept solidified in his mind. _You didn't kill him this time._

The ghost wasn't sure what to expect. Perhaps, he thought, the boy would run - he certainly had reason to; perhaps he'd run, or he'd pass out, or he'd simply vanish into thin air. Why wouldn't he, after what had been done to him? What could possibly make him want to spend one more second in a place like this? _Surely,_ thought the ghost, _I'll never see him again._ By all accounts, Danny should have run. 

Instead, he threw his arms around the ghost and bawled. Everything came out at once in an incomprehensible rant - _I couldn't keep doing this; I was just like you; how many times; why didn't you listen; I tried everything, I swear._ The words all tangled together and burned in the back of his throat, interrupted by great hiccuping sobs that wracked his entire body. He knew the ghost wouldn't understand - how could he? - and that he wouldn't be able to offer anything even if he'd wanted to. It hardly mattered; everything tumbled out anyway. _You've done it._

_You didn't become a murderer tonight._

\- - - - 

It was almost nine-thirty; for a Saturday night, it wasn't late. Danny jolted himself awake, heart slamming in his chest and hands shaking, and for a moment he was in a panic. He'd been dreaming, hadn't he? It had only been a nightmare? His mind caught up slowly, but he began to calm himself back down. He curled and uncurled his fingers a few times, and stared down at them as if to make sure he was still human. His breaths began to slow. Of course it had been a nightmare. He wouldn't _really_ kill anyone, would he? 

He turned his eyes about the room, and his heart sank. He remembered, in an instant, what he'd given away for his life. _I'll forget everything you ever did to me._ He knew he couldn't keep a promise like that. How could he forget? How many times had such torment been seared into his mind? He could still feel it - the sharp scrape of metal saw-teeth against bone, and which of his fingers had been yanked off - and he knew that would be with him forever. He hadn't become a murderer, but could he ever really be whole again? 

He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and pulled himself up. His breath had already begun to sting in his throat; it was all he could do to keep from tears. _I'll be your son._ He'd promised that, too; even if it had been in desperation, he knew he'd be held to it. In that instant, he'd given up everything he'd had - and for what? a heartbeat? the chance to be human again? 

He drifted down the hall, his footsteps silent against the stones. There was an oil painting here, he remembered; he saw it in equal parts whole and destroyed, hanging on the wall and resting in pieces amidst frozen debris. _This is where it would have happened._ He'd have streaked out from that very same room, body creaking and voice like a gale, and he'd have become a murderer. He'd have taken the rest of the grand house down with him in his descent into madness, and he'd have screamed afterward for a chance to take it all back. 

Hadn't he taken it all back? The house still stood; the old man still breathed; wasn't that good enough? No, he knew, it wasn't. He'd promised in desperation to forget it all - he wanted, more than anything, to forget it all. He knew he couldn't, and he knew he'd pay for it with the rest of his life. 

He could sense the old man standing at the end of the hall. His eyes were still on the oil painting - _lying in a pool of boiling nitrogen_ \- and his tears had finally run dry. _This is what you wanted, isn't it? to be human again?_ Despite everything, he didn't have it in him to be angry. He knew he should have been - after what had happened, he should have been furious. His body had gone beyond fury, and had landed in numbness; it was a deathly calm, and he didn't want to lose the soft focus that came with it. "It was torn here," he said, one finger rising and retracing the movements of a frenzied weapon of ice. He could still see the crystals, even though they hadn't truly come to be. 

The old man hesitated; he'd never seen the boy so deathly still in his life. _You've done that, you know. You've emptied him out. Do you really think you can be surprised? Look at him - is he still even human?_ No matter what he said, it would be painfully inadequate, but he knew he had to try anyway. "Daniel, I - " 

"You were standing right there," Danny continued, direction shifting to indicate the room at the end of the hall. His eyes were still on the painting. _"Maybe you'd best calm down. Surely we can work this out. Just look at you. I hadn't meant for this._ You blew apart everything up to here." One hand came up to his opposite arm, just below the elbow. He frowned. "Sometimes, you didn't." 

Something in Vlad froze and twisted over in his gut. "What - ?" 

Despite the numbness in his body, Danny's voice grew sharp in an instant. "You flew off after that. Do you know how far you got?" When the old man didn't answer, Danny turned to face him directly. _"Do you?"_

The old man shook his head slowly. 

"There," pointed Danny, without even looking. "That's where you died." 

The old man was silent. _That's where you died._ By itself, the sentiment was plain. That could be anywhere, couldn't it, when one could change back and forth between the living and the dead? The certainty with which Danny had said it, and the unflinching finger that pointed to an event that had never happened as if it was already fact - that was what gave the words their weight. _He killed me._ His blood ran cold. What could he possibly say to that? When he finally spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper. "It was an ice core, wasn't it? I went through the readings, and - " 

Danny just nodded once. 

"It would have consumed you, wouldn't it? How could you possibly know - ?" 

"Because you made me do it," said Danny, knowing the old man wouldn't believe him only after the words had come out, "I warned you, I swear - _I fucking warned you,_ and you made me do it anyway. . ." Despite his best efforts, the numbness had receded and he was crying again. 

Vlad paused, knowing he didn't want to ask, but asked anyway. "Why would you take something like that back?" 

"Because," Danny snapped, pricked by the only small needle of anger he could muster, "Because I'm not fucking _like_ you. I can't be a monster, no matter what I have to go through, I just - I can't do it. . ." 

Vlad was silent. _Not even for a thing like me?_ Some small part of him said he should be grateful - _he's spared you, and you should thank him_ \- but that thought grew sour in an instant. _Do you think you really deserved to be spared? Didn't you know he was always better than you?_

Danny dashed one eye with the heel of his hand, recomposing himself as the numbness returned. "I guess it doesn't matter now." His voice was flat and plain, and when his eyes turned to the old man again they were empty. "You still win, don't you? If I kill you, I become a monster like you. If I don't, you still get what you want." 

Vlad flinched as if struck. The emptiness with which Danny spoke was unbearable - _that's your doing, my friend_ \- and he knew there was nothing he could say against it. What could he possibly tell the boy - that he didn't mean it? _You meant every minute of it, and he deserves better than you._ He'd wanted, once, to be a half-ghost father with a half-ghost son. Hadn't he gotten it? Danny had promised Vlad his life, after all. Shouldn't he feel like he'd won? 

It was as if everything flew out of his grasp in an instant. _You were never going to win this way, you fool. Look at him. Look what you've done to him. He's fourteen. How much of it do you really think can be taken back?_ What _could_ be done, then? Surely, something must be; could he stand himself otherwise? Disgust and loathing clamored together in him, and he'd have only one slim chance to salvage any of it, and that would be to lay everything down. For once in his miserable, awful, irredeemable life, he'd admit defeat. "Daniel," he said quietly, unable to meet the boy's eyes. Was this to be a futile plea for redemption, or an acknowledgment of his own failure? Was there even a difference that mattered? All he knew was that it had become a necessity. "I thought, once, that you weren't worth the trouble. I know you'll never forgive me, dear boy, and you shouldn't have to. We must get you home, mustn't we?" 

Danny stiffened. "What?" 

"You've deserved so much better than me," said Vlad, knowing it wasn't enough but knowing it needed to be said regardless, "I can't offer you a single thing now except the promise that you'll never see me again." 

Something in Danny broke. Perhaps it was the crushing loneliness that had crept further into his heart every time he'd gone back and started over; perhaps it was the helpless certainty that he was still going in circles, and he'd never find a way out; perhaps it was his hatred for the old man, and his loathing for his own potential to kill. It all splintered apart in an instant, but he didn't find relief. 

Instead, there was only numbness. What was left for him? Wasn't it finished? He'd go home, and he'd get to see Tucker and Sam again - _how long has it really been? do you even know?_ It was what he'd wanted, and yet somehow it fell flat. It was almost as if something was still missing, despite that all the pieces had been picked up. He'd suffered enough - on his life, he'd suffered! - and he'd made it through hell and back, over and over. What else was there? Shouldn't he be glad it was finished? Perhaps, he thought, the gladness would come when he got home. Perhaps he would begin to feel again then, once the wretched old ghost was gone forever. In time, he could forget it all, as if it had never happened, right? Couldn't he do that? 

Couldn't he be human again?


End file.
